Fields of Paper Flowers
by kasey8473
Summary: Jo is separated from Ellen in the early days of a bleak future. Believing Ellen in danger, Jo makes a desperate deal with Lucifer-possessed-Sam. Too late, she realizes what his terms really mean: she's his to tease, his to torment, his to break.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Fields of Paper Flowers  
Summary: Jo has become separated from Ellen in the early days of a bleak future. Believing Ellen in danger, Jo makes a desperate deal with Lucifer-possessed-Sam. Too late, she realizes what his terms really mean: she's his. Always his. His to tease, his to torment, his to break.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect is intended.  
Notes: FYI, I tend to take characters I like and put them through hell.

* * *

She thought he was Sam at first: concerned about her, coaxing details from her, and gentle in tone and manner. He understood her worry about her mom. Sam always did understand about family.

Jo was terrified for her mom. She'd been waiting over a week at the rendezvous point they'd fixed in case they got separated and Ellen had yet to appear. Not only that, but her phone went straight to voicemail. Something had happened, Jo knew it. Sitting around waiting was driving her nuts, but what else could she do? She was exhausted from little sleep, the days blurring together.

It was a relief to have Sam knock at her door. She had no trouble sharing her worries and having someone besides herself worry for Ellen made her feel better. Sam understood everything she was going through emotionally, especially how much Ellen meant to Jo. He knew very well the sort of relationship Jo had with Ellen and sympathized.

They got all the way through dinner and were back in her motel room before he dropped the act. He'd lulled her into a false sense of safety, because really, what girl wouldn't feel safe with Sam looking out for her? When he wasn't possessed he was just that kind of guy.

"Do you ever wonder why that demon brought Sam to you?"

Not 'brought me', but rather 'brought Sam'.

Jo paused in the act of setting her jacket on the end of the bed. She turned to face him, eyes wide and heart racing fast in her chest. Warily, she studied him. He was relaxed in the chair by the table, legs stretched out. She couldn't detect any difference in him. His tone hadn't changed and he still watched her with that patient air. What the hell? This wasn't like Duluth. In Duluth, he'd been just different enough that she'd thought maybe he was drunk or high or something. Here there were no differences. Looked like Sam, sounded like Sam, acted like Sam. Apparently wasn't Sam. "You're not Sam."

"Technically, no. He's in here, Jo, but he sleeps most of the time. It's easier for him that way." He shrugged, an unconcerned lift of wide shoulders. "You can still call me Sam if you like. I don't mind. I know how disconcerting this is for you."

The bag with her demon hunting kit was on the table beside him. By sitting there, he blocked her from both it and the door. Jo had nowhere to go. Even the bathroom window was too small for her to get out. She took a step back from him, fear beginning to steadily rise inside her.

"You don't have to fear me," he said in a soothing tone. "I'm not a demon, so these little trappings you use," he indicated the bag in a languid movement of his left hand, "are useless. I'm not planning to hurt you. In fact, I came because once I heard you and Ellen had become separated I knew you were going to be in some distress about it. I came to help you, Jo."

"How did you hear about that?" She set her jacket down, glance turning about the room, looking for some sort of weapon to use against him. She supposed she could always try using her knife if it came right down to it.

"I keep my ear to the pulse of the world." He spoke in that same calm, gentle tone he'd been using since he'd arrived earlier that afternoon. It never wavered and somehow, that made this situation more frightening.

"What are you then, if you're not a demon?" She could taste her own terror as a metallic tang in the back of her throat and swallowed reflexively to try to make it go away. It stuck there at the base of her throat, like something she couldn't quite swallow past there to gag her.

"In general terms, I'm an angel. In specific terms, I'm Lucifer, a very powerful angel."

"An _evil_ angel. Lucifer is evil." Her hands began to shake, Jo balling them into fists at her thighs. As they spoke, he didn't move from the chair, yet he appeared bigger, as though saying who he was made his physical presence more imposing. She took another step back.

His brows raised. "You'll hurt my feelings talking that way."

"It's my understanding that angels don't have feelings."

Sam…Lucifer shrugged. "Either sit down or leave. We have a couple matters to discuss."

"I can leave?"

"Of course you can leave, Jo. You're not physically restrained. I'll sit right here while you gather your belongings and walk out the door. I won't try to stop you. It's your choice." He cocked his head. "But you might want to hear the things I have to say."

"Not likely." She began to pack, keeping a covert watch upon him from the corner of her eye. He sat in the chair watching her, silent until she'd finished and was taking a last glance about the room for anything she may have missed.

"It sure will be a shame about your mother, though, if you do go before our talk."

She froze in the act of reaching for her jacket. "What's that supposed to mean?" His timing was impeccable.

"Just a comment."

"What do you know? Where is she?" Jo straightened, looking at him with a narrowed gaze.

He sat up, leaned towards her a little, like he was bowing, and indicated the end of the bed with one hand. "Sit. You might as well be comfortable while we chat."

Cautiously, she perched on the end of the bed by her jacket. Jo gripped the edge of the mattress. "Well? Aside from my mother, I can't think of one thing we have to talk about."

"We have Sam, for one. Why did she bring him to you do you think?"

"To use me as bait for Dean."

"Actually, it's deeper than that. Do you recall what she said to you about him? Think back for the exact words she used."

As if Jo could ever forget that demon. "She said 'I could be more to you', meaning he could I guess."

"It should have been 'I _will_ be more to you', because he was programmed to find you. She tapped into that. He was programmed so that _I_ could find you without effort when the time came. I simply chose to find you a bit earlier than I'd planned. To help you. To ease your distress."

Jo frowned, thinking that over. She could think of no reason for this evil angel to find her. None of it made sense. "The time for what? Why would you need to find me? Why would you _want_ to find me? I'm nothing to you."

His expression shifted into one of such sincerity that Jo felt a sudden emotional pull towards him. "No, Jo, you're wrong. You're not nothing. That you should have no sense of your own worth is…well, it's a crime." He stood in one smooth movement and crossed to her, kneeling on the floor before her. One hand rested on her knee, his chest pressed against her legs. "You're a very loyal, loving woman. It's to your credit. You'll fight long and hard for those you love, but here's the thing, Jo. Your mother and Dean Winchester…. I know where they are and it's not looking good for them." He shook his head. "They're hunting together, but their hunt took them to a large pocket of the infected and those sick people are closing in on them."

Jo could see it in her mind. She could see Ellen trying to reach the rendezvous point, working towards it, and unable to call. Maybe her battery was dead or there wasn't a tower, or maybe something was wrong with the tower. It made sense that her mom would work with Dean if she ran across him and if they were both in a position to need help. They had before. Ellen liked Dean a lot. She trusted him to have her back. The scene this angel tossed to her was very likely considering where Jo and Ellen had ended up splitting apart. Small towns were going fast and they'd been in a small town. It was only a matter of time before it hit the cities and then there'd be chaos like nobody's business.

He squeezed her knee, then her thigh. "I can make it go away. I can promise you that they'll be safe, but I can't do it for nothing." A regretful turn to his brow. "There are rules you see. In fact, I _would_ do it for nothing if not for those rules. I dislike having to ask you for anything in return."

"Why would you want to do that for me?" She should go running out the door, but what if he was telling the truth? What if….

"Do you not consider yourself worthy of a favor? Can't I do something for you?"

"In my experience, deals with demons are death." She shifted her weight, legs pinned by his body. No longer could she get up and walk out the door. She'd have to ask him to move back in order to stand.

"I'm an angel, Jo, not a demon."

"What would you want from me for this favor? I mean, I'm not naïve. You want something and it's something big. If you're who you say you are, then I don't see what I could even give…" If he wasn't a demon, then he wouldn't want her soul, right? Angels didn't want souls. Did that include bad angels as well? Jo couldn't think straight. Too many hours awake and too few hours of real deep sleep. Her head ached, temples throbbing with tension. She couldn't seem to bring her thoughts into any real clarity.

Both hands were on her knees, thumbs brushing. "You, of course. I want you."

"You want me to what? _For_ what? Why would you want to find me?"

His smile was slow, warm, and very Sam. Except his eyes. His eyes remained cool, assessing. Sam's face was a mask he was wearing for her, wasn't it? "Even I desire companionship, with all of the perks a human vessel allows. You were chosen as a possibility."

Companionship. Perks. Jo looked away, squeezing her eyes shut. The way he said that…. He meant sex. Why would he want to do that? If he really was Lucifer, shouldn't he be bent on conquering the world and killing all of humanity? Or something like that? Why bother with her at all?

"I'm not a monster, Jo. Our conversations thus far this afternoon have been very civil, don't you agree? That wouldn't change. You've enjoyed my company these hours, at least admit that."

She nodded, a jerking motion, keeping her eyes closed so she wouldn't have to see him there. It was a grudging admission. Jo had enjoyed talking with him, despite now knowing he wasn't Sam.

"Now, about your mother and Dean. You love them both very much. I can see it on your face. You've an understandable closeness to your mother. After all, she was the one who raised you after your dad died. I also know you've had your disagreements and don't we all with our parents? Still you love her so much it hurts to think of losing her. Who will you talk to once she's gone? Who will hold you and understand everything you go through? What will you do knowing she's gone from you forever?" He slid his hands along her thighs, up to her hips and back down. "As for Dean Winchester --"

"He means nothing to me!"

His chuckle rumbled against her legs. "Of course. That's why you still think about him when you're alone and cry in your pillow because he never really noticed you there. Nothing, obviously."

She opened her eyes, trying to blink away the tears gathering.

"I noticed you, Jo. I still notice you," his right hand raised, fingers grazing her cheek, "and I'll treat you far better than Dean ever would. Not that he's ever done very well in that department anyway. Got you in trouble more than anything else. Me? I won't do that. Here's what I'll do for you. The infected will never see you. You'll stand in the midst of their disease and feel not a breath of it upon you. You'll bloom with health. You'll wont for nothing. Dean couldn't do any of that for you. I'll do all that and all you have to do is be my companion when I wish it. Dinner, conversation,…sex now and then."

Was it only her imagination or did his voice pause before saying 'sex'?

"You willing and participating throughout. I'm not asking much from you really. Your free time will be your own and you will have quite a bit of it. The tasks before me will take much of my time. Honestly, Jo, I see our…relationship…as being more friends with occasional benefits than anything else."

"And my mom? What about her?"

"She won't suffer the disease or it's effects on the world. She'll be…safe." A brow raised. "Unlike right this moment."

"Do you promise me she'll be safe?" Demons were bound by their promise. Was he as well?

"Yes. I will promise. I'll be bound by my promise," he assured her, "and I'll even throw in Dean, though you claim he means nothing."

It was to save two lives. Her mom and Dean. Two people who meant the most to her. Both had saved her in the past and now she'd save them. In her exhausted, worried state, everything else was periphery. Jo swallowed hard. She couldn't bear for them both to be gone when she had the means to save them. "Do it now. Save her, save _them_ from them."

His eyes narrowed and he studied her. "You understand what companionship entails?"

"Yes." How hard could it be to turn off her mind during sex? It wasn't like she'd never done that before anyway. And how much could he possibly want? "Conversation, dinner, sex."

"And you agree with the terms as set forth by me?"

"I do."

His lips twitched as though he was amused. "Sealing this bargain will take far more than a handshake or kiss. It's a tall order requiring a more intimate seal. Are you prepared to accept that seal and all it will take to administer it?"

"I get that. Save my mother. Please!"

He parted her legs, moving closer, hands raising to cup her face. "Tell me that you give yourself to me." The heat of his body washed up her inner thighs.

"I give myself to you."

Her mouth was traced by his left thumb. The touch tickled. "Mmm-mmm. Not quite, Jo. Your full name and my name in the 'I' and 'you' fields. Let's make it crystal clear who this transaction is between."

She paused.

"You can still walk away," he told her. "Our bargain isn't complete until all the sealing is done." He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, lips parting. Urgency took his gaze when he returned it to hers. "Walking away won't help Ellen. Think fast. She's about to be discovered by those infected. Your window of opportunity to help her is slipping fast. She can hear them approaching…." His brows drew together, an expression she'd Sam use when he was troubled by something.

"I, Joanna Beth Harvelle…"

"Yes?" Anticipation was breathed into that one word, a sense of expectation in the air between them.

"Give myself to you…" Jo closed her eyes, a hot rush of tears bursting forth to slip down her cheeks and onto his fingers. Her lower lips trembled, tongue stumbling on the final part of her vow. "…Lucifer."

Her mother would kill her if she ever found out just what Jo had done to save her life.

He kissed her, a brief caress, his tongue stroking along the curve of her lower lip. "As a show of good faith, I'll take care of her now, before we've fully completed this transaction." He moved back from her. "It's how trust works, isn't it, Jo? I trust you'll complete this."

Jo nodded, sniffing and wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands.

"I'll only be a few minutes. Occupy yourself with undressing. We'll finish when I return."

When she opened her eyes, he was gone. Slowly, Jo reached for the buttons on her blouse, popping them open and removing it. Her skin was goosebumped as though the room was chilly when in fact it was warm. She should be sweating from the heat and wasn't. Odd. Setting the blouse by her jacket, Jo stood to take off her shoes and jeans. She felt numb and a little drunk, her fingers fumbling on her belt. By the time she reached her underwear, he'd reappeared.

"She's safe," he told her, putting the chain on the door to the room and crossing to her.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

He reached out one hand, sliding it along her waist until he'd brought it around to her back and could draw her closer. "I won't lie to you. She's in a better locale than she was."

"And Dean?"

"He's far from them, Jo, almost as though he was never there in the first place."

She pressed her hands to his chest, stopping that steady pull towards him. Jo focused on the top button of his shirt. "What now?"

"You give me whatever I want. Or, I can put Ellen and Dean back where they were if you'd rather and they can die a horrible lingering death?"

"No!"

The smile that curved his lips was pleased, while his gaze remained cool. "Then let's get started. Show me what those fumbling boys you've lain with have taught you. Then, we'll see what _I_ can teach you."

She couldn't push him away or try to fight like she had in Duluth. This time she'd made a deal and if she didn't comply, he could declare it null and void. Her mother and Dean would be gone, killed by the infected. She wouldn't let that happen.

To her surprise, she wasn't completely repulsed by him, gaining some pleasure. Well, at first. Revulsion came later, as what was left of the day slid into night and he began to move her this way and that at whim. Hours passed. Some of the things he wanted from her made bile rise in her throat and caused involuntary screams she couldn't suppress.

He worked her body until she was a mass of exposed nerve endings, that pleasure from earlier become pain of too much, too fast and just plain pain that didn't end. Still, he continued and she had to participate. After all, she'd agreed to and he could nix their deal until it was fully sealed -- whenever that would be.

* * *

Sam woke. Conscious and blind.

First, he felt a warm, pliant female body against his. His hands glided over her skin -- breasts, belly, hips, thighs --, his lips tracing the contours of her face. Her skin was smooth, limbs sleek with muscle. Her belly contracted against his hand, quivering just a little.

Taste returned, the salt of her tears on his tongue. She was crying, cheeks wet. Why did she cry? Her mouth met his, tongue hot and quick, darting and tangling with his. He couldn't tell if she was trying to evade the kiss or deepen it further.

The scents of herbal shampoo and of a lightly musk, floral perfume teased his nostrils. Both together were familiar in a way he should know. Sam knew this woman, but how? He couldn't recall….

He heard the little noises she was making, almost protestations, though she seemed willing enough: her hands caressed him as she was caressed. When she turned her face aside after the kiss, her cheek to his, she sobbed, a great hitching of breath that shuddered her entire body.

Why couldn't he see? And why didn't he seem to be controlling his body?

His mind was fuzzy, nothing much beyond who he was and the immediate things he could feel, taste, smell, hear were clear. There was something major he'd forgotten, but what was it?

Sam covered her body with his. She was petite, slim. He ran a hand along one shapely thigh, hooking it beneath her knee and tugging so that her legs were spread a bit wider. Her back arched, breasts pressing to his chest and hips down away from him.

What am I doing, he thought. That's a refusal even if she's not saying it out loud.

With one hand, he dragged her hips up to meet his downward thrust.

He woke a bit more, vision lightening, the shape of her taking form. Sam could feel his heartbeat fast in his chest and an energy coiling inside him. Anticipation raised the hairs on his arms.

She was a hot, wet heat, body enveloping him as though he belonged there inside of her. Her features were almost discernable….

He saw his hand raise her left arm, place it on the pillow by her head, his fingers gripping tight. Her wrist felt fragile and he wondered if his grip would snap it in two.

Sam blinked.

And saw Jo Harvelle beneath him. Regret, pain, and terror danced in eyes that had the dark purple shadows of exhaustion beneath them. Her mouth looked bruised, lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. Jo's blond hair was dark with sweat. She was not enjoying this. Perhaps she had once, but not now.

Rode hard, he said to himself. Very hard. Did I do that to her? I must have.

He covered her mouth with his free hand.

Why was she allowing this if she was so afraid?

The last missing nugget of information was frustratingly there and yet out of reach at the same time.

With a final thrust, he spilled into her, the pleasure in that release rolling over him. His eyes closed, Sam still not in control. That weird energy intensified and his eyes opened.

"You're mine now, Joanna Beth Harvelle."

The energy rolled down his right arm, quick as a bowling ball shooting down a lane, dispersing into Jo's left wrist. A second before she started screaming, Sam remembered what it was he'd forgotten.

Lucifer.

It wasn't Sam Jo had been having sex with, but rather Lucifer, and she'd apparently made some sort of deal with him.

Oh, Jo…no….

Sam was forced back into sleep under the angel's will.

* * *

His weight pinned Jo to the mattress. One hand forced her left wrist onto the pillow beside her head, the other clamping across her mouth. His fingers squeezed on her arm, palm covering the pale blue trace of veins on her inner wrist.

"You're mine now, Joanna Beth Harvelle." Eyes devoid of human compassion stared into hers as a sharp pain lanced her wrist.

Jo tried to twist, to buck him off. His hold was so complete upon her that all she could do was shake with helpless tremors, attempting to scream. The pain in her wrist began to spread, hot and cold at the same time, a searing agony that slowly and surely engulfed her.

What have I done, she asked herself before her body rebelled from the pain and slid her sharply into oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Fields of Paper Flowers  
Chapter: 2  
Summary: Jo has become separated from Ellen in the early days of a bleak future. Believing Ellen in danger, Jo makes a desperate deal with Lucifer-possessed-Sam. Too late, she realizes what his terms really mean: she's his. Always his. His to tease, his to torment, his to break.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect is intended.  
Notes: The town Pleasant Plains is real. Also...many thanks for the reviews!

* * *

"Dean, sweetie, is that you?" Ellen Harvelle's voice was scratchy, the line static-y.

"Ellen. Hey, what's up?"

"You anywhere near Illinois?"

Dean glanced out the car window at the fields on either side of the road. This part of Illinois wasn't nearly as flat and boring as northern Iowa scenery, but it was a close second. "Sure am. I'm on fifty five heading north, why?"

"Can I convince you to make a detour and come pick me up?"

He frowned. "Where's Jo?"

"Oh, hell if I know. A couple of demons worked us, got us split up. I'm supposed to be heading for the rendezvous point we fixed, but there's no way I'm getting out of here without help and Jo's not answering her phone. It keeps skipping to voicemail. I think she's in trouble herself and I can't concentrate on finding her ass before I extract my own."

He dragged the map across the seat towards him. "Yeah, I'll swing by and get you. Where are you?"

"Pleasant Plains. It's a little town west of Springfield. I'm holed up in the high school. You need to be careful coming in, Dean. The virus is here. Locals are out prowling."

"That's just great."

"Ain't it though?" She went quiet a moment. "Can you hold on for a sec, sweetie? Just heard something."

Pulling over to the side of the road, Dean looked at the map. Ellen wasn't far by his calculations. Maybe forty minutes at the speed limit, an hour if he hit traffic.

The silence at her end had a strange weight to it…. He cocked his head, listening carefully.

Ellen gasped.

"Ellen." The voice was familiar and alien at the same time. Sam's.

Dean's gut clenched.

"I'm here to help you," Sam's voice continued.

"Sam?" Relief in her tone. "Well am I glad to see you, boy."

"Ellen," Dean yelled into the phone. "Get away from him! It's not Sam! Ellen!"

The voice continued, grating in it's menacing calm. "Jo sent me to you. Oh Ellen, you wouldn't believe the things your little girl has done to ensure you go to a better place than this."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean." she asked.

Dean closed his eyes for a brief second, then pulled back onto the road. He had to get there. Where was Cas with his 'I Dream of Jeannie' blink and get you there power when he needed him?

He still remembered the day he'd changed his mind about cutting Sam loose. The voicemail Sam had left. Simple and to the point with a location and a few words extra. 'I'm tired, Dean. I can't do this. I can't fight him anymore. I can't…. I'm sorry. ' Just because he didn't answer or return Sam's calls didn't mean he never listened to the messages or questioned his decision. Dean questioned it every day. He didn't know what it was about the message that changed his mind and made him desire to run after Sam and save him.

He'd hurried to get there, dreading walking into the room and finding his brother's lifeless body. What he found was worse. He found Sam's belongings: clothes, laptop, iPod, phone. Lucifer had taken Sam and left them behind.

Dean was too late to save Sam.

"It means she's desperate to save you."

"You've seen Jo." It wasn't a question Ellen put forth, but rather a statement.

"In every way possible. She loves you very much to do what she did."

"Ellen, run," Dean told her, even though he didn't think she was listening. "For God's sake, Ellen, get out of there! Get away from him!"

"I've seen _everything_ Jo has to offer," the angel confirmed.

Dean could imagine Ellen there before Lucifer, seeing now it wasn't Sam, worried for Jo and wondering how to save her daughter. More worried for Jo than herself.

"I promised her I'd take you to a better place. I keep my promises."

Ellen cried out. Dean heard a scuffling and a sickening crunch that was followed by a thud. The call disconnected.

He stepped harder on the gas pedal, reaching the town, and school, in record time. There was no sign of demons or infected townspeople. All was quiet. Inside the building, in the large gym at one end, Dean found Ellen.

She was splayed out as though she'd been tossed like a rag doll, her neck at an unnatural angle, eyes wide open and staring. On her stomach, was her phone. Dean slipped the phone into his pocket and sat beside her, gathering her into his arms and holding her to him.

"Oh God, Ellen, I'm sorry."

He cried for her, cradling her body, and when his tears had dried somewhat, Dean carried her to the car. In a field not too far away, he gave her a hunter's send off, keeping an ear out for the infected.

Dean was too late to save Ellen.

Lucifer 2, Dean 0.

What, he wondered, had Lucifer meant by Jo having sent him? A lie, or something more? Was Jo with him, somehow snowed into thinking he was Sam? Or was there more to it? Could he find her and save her before she did something she'd regret?

* * *

She woke in a strange room that was large and decorated in soothing pale blues and whites. There was a fireplace -- of white marble it looked like --, directly across from the bed, a mirror above it. Jo saw a white couch in the corner near the wide stretch of windows, placed with a low table and two straight chairs. Tasteful decorations. A few candles here, a painting there. The light blue curtains were open wide, letting in the bright light of the rising sun.

Jo stared at the cloudless sky, hearing three distinct voices. Two were female. The third was _his_. She sighed. Her throat hurt, probably from the screaming she'd done. The bed was big and soft beneath her naked body. Under different circumstances she would have enjoyed lying there, maybe stretching a little. Jo pushed to a sitting position, crying out from the pull of stiff muscles. The covers pooled about her hips. Looking down at herself, she saw dark bruises mingling with the red of both bite and scratch marks. Her head pounded, nausea rolling in her belly and it seemed that no inch of her body didn't ache. When he'd said 'anything' he meant it.

She dragged the sheets up to cover those bruises, bites and scratches, then raised her left wrist and looked at it. The mark there looked inflamed and painful, yet was the only place on her body that didn't hurt in some way. Though only two inches in diameter -- covering her wrist --, it was very detailed inside the circle boundary. A triangle with an X over it with two V's at the tip that created a diamond shape. A sigil? Whatever it was, it was his sign upon her. Maybe she'd look it up later.

The bargain was met. The mark on her left wrist was proof of that.

Jo ran her fingers over it, appalled by some of the things she'd done with him and would continue to do. She felt weird, like a piece of her somewhere inside had been chipped away and stolen. No longer whole. Empty inside. Had she given away her soul? He'd never said it was her soul he wanted. He'd said companionship….

He came through the bedroom door, already dressed, striding straight to her with the sort of sleek reptilian grace that Sam had never had. "It'll take a few days before you feel better. The link takes a physical toll at first." He dropped a credit card onto the bedside table, then two keys. "You will feel better within the week."

How long had she been out? Jo turned her gaze to the table and stared at the card and keys. Her pulse pounded in her temples.

"Buy what pleases you, no matter the cost. Treat yourself, Jo. This apartment you're in," he tapped the keys with one forefinger. "It's yours now."

She was going to be a kept woman if she took any of that. Her instinct was to refuse.

The angel -- she couldn't bear to use either Lucifer or Sam for him -- raised his brows. "You can refuse, of course, but…you'll eventually take it, so why don't we save time and skip the moral outrage? You and I both know you don't have a moral leg to stand on." His smirk was unpleasant. "Especially after last night."

Bile rose in her throat, sour and thick. Jo forced it back down.

The smirk disappeared. "Take the money and the apartment, Jo. Settle in. I'll be back to set down a couple rules for this arrangement when you're feeling better."

He was gone before she could say a word.

A woman came into view, mid-forties Jo would guess. She came forward. "I'm Marta. I'm here to cook for you and to clean." She offered her own left wrist. On it was a brand like Jo had, only smaller and not as neat, the design rough. "I will assist you as you wish, Ms. Harvelle. Do you wish anything at present?"

"No."

"Are you hungry? Breakfast? I could make pancakes or whatever you desire."

"I'm not hungry." Not to mention she doubted she'd be able to keep anything down.

"Very well." Marta nodded. "There is painkiller in the bathroom and fresh towels laid out." She left the room.

When she was sure Marta wasn't still standing in the hallway, Jo tossed back the covers and took a deep breath. Slowly, she made her way into the bathroom, stumbling twice and falling heavily to her bruised knees. By the time she reached it she was so exhausted that she was half afraid she wouldn't be able to finish a shower before collapsing. Her body shook with tremors she couldn't begin to stop and she had to sit on the edge of the whirlpool tub until they passed.

Her favorite products were waiting in the shower stall. Jo began with warm water, yet it wasn't nearly enough, her shaking fingers twisting the lever until it went as far as it could go. Steam rolled about her body, skin turning red from the heat, and still she couldn't get warm. Her teeth chattered. The soap she used stung the open wounds on her body, but Jo persisted through the discomfort. She'd scrub her skin raw if she thought it'd take the taint of him off of her.

She stepped from the shower only when the water went cold on her, wrapping herself in one luxurious robe hanging from a hook and brushing her teeth. Task quickly completed, Jo searched for the painkiller Marta had claimed was there, taking 1000 mg and not caring if it could be too much for her. After swallowing the pills, Jo took a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself and frowned. Beneath the scents of her soap, shampoo, and deodorant was something else…. Another sniff. She raised her arm, sniffed once more, and realized what she was smelling.

Him. She smelled him, as though he was part of her now.

Her stomach lurched, Jo barely making it to the toilet. There was nothing but bile and pills to come up. Jo rode the waves of nausea until finally, blessedly, they ceased. More pills replaced the ones she'd thrown up and Jo crept back into bed, falling into a deep sleep that lasted until it was dark.

Not once had she looked into a mirror.

She woke the second time with Marta holding her head over a bucket and her skin burning with fever. For two days she was unable to keep any food or liquid in her stomach, throwing up everything with such force that she was sure her stomach would crawl out her throat with a rush of blood.

Those tremors she'd had the first day continued, accompanied by a pounding headache that blurred her vision, the pain a knife stabbing at her temples. Jo did not rest for three days, rolling in sweat soaked sheets, certain she was dying.

Dying would be an improvement.

The seventh day, she woke, well once more. The bruises, bites, and scratches were gone. Marta ran a bath for her and Jo soaked willingly, letting the heat of the water warm and soothe her. Her stomach growled with hunger and she could smell Marta cooking something that smelled delicious. What had happened, she wondered, to that other female voice she'd heard? Marta said it was only the two of them in the apartment.

Leaving the bath, Jo dried, dressed, and set about exploring the apartment Lucifer had procured for her. It was large, bigger than any place she'd ever lived. The bathroom alone was bigger than those motel rooms she'd stayed in. The layout was simple really. Main hallway at the front door with doors opening to either the living room, kitchen or coat closet. The dining room connected the kitchen and living room, a hallway off the living room leading to two bedrooms. Both bedrooms had a bathroom attached. Jo assumed there was another hallway off the kitchen that led to wherever Marta stayed, because it was obvious from the dust in the second bedroom that it wasn't used.

She ate grilled chicken flavored with pepper and garlic, new potatoes with butter and green beans. Not the canned kind, but fresh. Jo ignored the milk Marta put on the table, drinking water and coffee instead. She'd rather drink her own piss than drink milk. Her mom had forced enough down her as she was growing up, citing the need for strong bones, to make her gag at the thought. Now that Jo was grown she rarely drank any at all. As Jo ate, she tried to get information from the woman.

"So, worked here long?"

Marta polished something on the side table. "Yes."

"Who lives here?"

"You do."

"Who before me? I mean there had to be someone before me. It's not like this place has been sitting around empty of people and fully furnished for years, right?" She stirred her coffee.

Marta turned to face her. "There was none before you, Ms. Harvelle. We've been waiting a very long time for him and for any he would take for himself."

Jo mulled that over, finishing her lunch. "You mean a bunch of you got together and have kept this apartment paid for just on the off-chance he'd decide to use it for someone whenever he got free from his prison in hell?"

"Yes."

"Right." She shook her head. "Are you a demon? Possessed by one?"

Marta smiled. "No. I am, however, honored to wear his mark, even if it isn't of the sort you have."

"You didn't make a deal with him?"

"I offered my service in caring for you." That smile was chilling. "I killed the other women vying for the position. They had no understanding of what you would be."

"And what is that?"

She picked up Jo's plate. "Like you don't know. You tease me." Whirling, she disappeared back into the kitchen, remaining out of Jo's line of sight the rest of the afternoon. Even when Jo went looking for her, Marta was nowhere to be found.

Jo occupied herself with studying the apartment more closely than she had earlier: checking for ways to defend herself and points to make note of. She found a chute in the back hallway that was probably for laundry, but other than that, nothing interesting. Maybe the apartment had been picked because it was so simple in layout and features.

_He_ appeared later that day, as Jo was trying to decide if she could get away with pouring salt at all the entrances, his voice startling her a fraction.

"Marta will just clean it up, Jo. Salt is messy. Besides, it wouldn't be very nice of you to try to bar the apartment against me. I might take offense at that."

She glanced over her shoulder and stood from studying the floor at the wide stretch of windows in the living room. "Looks like she already cleaned up salt once. There's a little left she missed." She held up her hands to show the residue, then dusted them off.

"They became anxious and took a woman. The woman had some knowledge and used it."

"What happened to her?" Crossing her arms, she hugged herself.

"One of Marta's…rivals killed her in an attempt to make it seem that Marta was incompetent. Marta then eliminated her own competition to prevent that happening again. Such devotion she has."

"What was her name? The woman they took." Jo watched him as he watched her. He was leaning against the doorway from the hall, not quite as casually dressed as Sam had usually been. She couldn't recall Sam ever tucking in his shirts.

"Sarah. Her name was Sarah."

"Who was she?"

"Someone that would never have worked as a choice like you do."

Jo wondered if she could discover more on the unlucky Sarah from Marta. "Why?"

He shook his head, declining to answer the question. "You're feeling better I see. Any lingering unpleasantness?"

Aside from the emptiness inside, not really. Jo crossed to the plush couch and sat down. "No." She could feel the weight of his stare upon her, keeping her head turned to see him out of the corner of her eye. Sighing, he approached, crouching down in front of her. Jo shifted away on the cushions. He followed. Again she moved and the entire sequence was repeated, stopping when he had her trapped against the arm of the couch.

"A couple rules. When I wish a companion somewhere on the outside, you'll be given time to dress in an appropriate fashion. Dress, heels, jewelry, make-up. Jeans are too casual, though you may wear them on your own time. Be prompt to greet me." He took her hand, held it, thumb rubbing across the back in soft sweeps. "Use discretion online. Don't broadcast your location or I'll be forced to move you. Your next location might not be this pleasant."

Jo found that while she looked at him, she wasn't _looking_ at him, her gaze moving from his hands to his chest to his arms…everywhere but his face. She didn't want to look at him and see his eyes in Sam's face. "Can I leave? I mean, can I go out and travel a bit if I want? Or do I have to stay here in this apartment?"

"You're not a prisoner, Jo. You can leave the apartment as often as you like. Let Marta know and a car will be brought for you to drive. A driver as well should you want one."

When he didn't say anything more, she asked, "That's it?" It seemed to her that there should be more rules than that. Those were nothing really.

"More could be added if needed, but yes. That's it for now."

Jo tugged her hand free from his, clasping hers together in her lap. "I heard another voice the other day. Who was that?"

He stood, looming over her. "One of my followers. You needn't concern yourself with her." His tone had an implied 'yet' to it. "Begin to enjoy this life you've chosen. Remember, it was _your_ choice."

A week went by without him appearing again and then another, until six weeks had gone by. For those weeks, he left Jo alone. Why did he do that? Why leave her to her own devices? Not that she was complaining. Jo remained in the apartment, waiting out each day, half afraid he'd return before she'd somewhat recovered from sealing their deal. Physically, she'd healed, but mentally? She flinched when she thought she heard him there with her, desperately trying to make her mind block out the details of their deal.

Alone in her fancy apartment (save Marta), Jo watched as the world began to slide further into hell. Natural disasters increased, animals started to die from new strains of illnesses and that disease being called the Croatoan Virus stopped being quite so isolated. More and more cases were being reported on the news. How could it go so quickly? It was as though time fast forwarded for her.

She grilled Marta about the woman, learning nothing more than that Sarah had done something with auctions, art, and antiques. No last name and certainly nothing that would give Jo a way to hunt down more information. She had a burning need to know the woman who'd been imprisoned here before her. What did she look like? What sorts of things did she like? Had she known Sam before he'd been taken over by Lucifer? If so, how did the angel's followers know about her unless he told them? It bugged her that some woman had been kidnapped and killed in an attempt to please _him_.

Around the six week mark, she started feeling somewhat like herself again. The emptiness was still there, a gaping hole inside her, yet wrapped about it was a determination to cope with what she'd done to herself. The decision to give herself to him was hers and hers alone and she'd clean up her own mess. No one could do it for her.

At ten weeks, she took a roadtrip, heading towards the Roadhouse ashes, hoping to find her mom there while knowing she wouldn't. She took the scenic route, wending her way there across lonely country roads. Somewhere around Sioux City, Iowa, she realized she was hoping she'd just happen to bump into Dean Winchester, which was a ridiculous hope considering the sheer land mass of the United States. What would she even say were she to find him by chance? 'Hey Dean, how've you been? I sold myself to Lucifer to save your life and my mom's. Any idea where she's at these days? Oh, and do you know how to break a deal with Lucifer because I'm fresh out of ideas?'

The trip was a bust, doing nothing but dredge up memories best left behind with the state of the world as it was and prove that Lucifer had actually done a part of his portion of the deal: None of the infected she saw noticed her. In one frightening moment, she'd come face to face with three of them and they'd walked right by her without looking her way.

As Jo drove, she started to think of hunting again. Just because she'd made that deal didn't mean she couldn't hunt, right? He'd said nothing about it when he'd laid down those light rules. Besides, it'd make her feel close to her mom again while she didn't know where Ellen was.

Jo set about her hunt, lucking out in finding a lone demon before she'd gone very far. In a different frame of mind, this would have made her suspicious. Finding it was too easy, too fast. She exorcised it, pleased with the familiar activity right up until the left side of her face exploded in pain and she hit the wall so hard her body left a dent in the drywall.

_He_ stood over her, his cold eyes paralyzing her with fear. She could sense the anger coiling inside him. Anger wasn't something she wanted from him. Anger meant pain and worse. She knew it did. Behind him was a female demon, eyes black in the human face. She was the one who'd hit Jo and enjoyed it if the pleased expression on her face was any indication.

Crouching down, Lucifer grabbed her left wrist, wrenching it, sliding her sleeve up. "Did you really think I didn't know where you were or what you were up to? This mark links us. I expend no effort to find you." There was a crack as her wrist popped in his hand.

Too late, she realized he'd been testing her by leaving her alone and that she'd failed his test to abysmal proportions. He'd given her room to hang herself and that she'd done. She coughed, blood speckling her jeans, tasting the metallic tang of it in her mouth.

Behind him, she saw the female demon smirk.

His fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him directly. Jo flinched. Those cold eyes in Sam's face…. As his fingers tightened, it felt like something broke inside her chest. Her arms and legs wouldn't work. A strangled scream left her, blood rushing up her throat and into her mouth. More cracking sensations along her ribs and then her back, each accompanied by blinding bursts of torturous pain. She couldn't escape from it. He nudged her chin up, her head back as far as it would go, pressed to the wall. She couldn't open her mouth. Jo tried to swallow, to breathe, but the blood kept coming, drowning her. She started to choke. He let go of her wrist only to embrace her. Black spots danced on the edge of her vision. She was going to die and he was the last thing she'd see….

It was gone. All of it. The blood drowning her, the excruciating pains inside of her. Jo dragged in a deep breath, her heart pounding like she'd been running a marathon.

He took them back to the apartment he'd put her in. In a rough jerk, he took her dad's knife from the sheath at her belt, throwing it towards the wall across the room. It embedded with a thud. Much later, Jo would discover she didn't have the strength to pull it out. "You'll do no hunting of any kind or you'll get a nice taste of hell. Do you understand me?"

She tried to nod.

"That you'd dare to strike one of my own after everything I've done for you is insulting, Jo. That you thought you could get away with it…." He released her. "That tells me you haven't quite accepted our agreement and everything it entails. I'm disappointed in you." Two fingers beckoned the demon over to join them. "This is Meg. It's not her real name, but the one she likes best at the moment. She's going to be your bodyguard."

Jo wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, fingers shaking. His enforcer, he meant.

"I hate to restrict you, you know that, but after this…. Meg goes with you everywhere."

He decreed it and so it would be.

"Get up."

She got to her feet on legs that shook.

"We're going out tonight. A party. Your dress is in the bedroom. Be ready at nine."

Jo remained standing where she was long after he'd gone. When she finally looked up, the demon Meg was standing in front of her.

"Well, well, I never thought I'd see you in this position." She crossed her arms. "Suck it up, sweetheart."

"Do I know you?" There was something familiar in the way she spoke and the way she stood. Jo racked her brain trying to figure it out.

"I'm sad you don't remember me. My run in Sam Winchester was short, but pretty fun. Didn't we have fun together, Jo? I sure enjoyed tying you up."

"You're that demon from Duluth."

With a wide grin, she nodded. "I am! We have lots of time to get reacquainted. I am so looking forward to it. We're going to be good friends, Jo. I can tell."


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Fields of Paper Flowers  
Chapter: 3  
Summary: Jo has become separated from Ellen in the early days of a bleak future. Believing Ellen in danger, Jo makes a desperate deal with Lucifer-possessed-Sam. Too late, she realizes what his terms really mean: she's his. Always his. His to tease, his to torment, his to break.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect is intended.

* * *

He would never again see out of his own eyes without the angel's focus. If by chance Lucifer left his body, Sam would cease to have any awareness at all. He'd be a complete vegetable, unable to process anything. Sam knew this as surely as he knew that Jo was just as damned as he was and for the same overall reason: family.

While Sam had eventually let the angel in because of Dean's abandonment, Jo made her deal to save her mother first and Dean second. Having not been awake during that portion of the afternoon, Sam didn't know if Ellen and Dean had really been in danger or if Lucifer had lied to her. His money was on a partial truth, something engineered just for Jo's benefit.

He was awake off and on these days, more than he'd been at first and usually to witness something concerning Jo. Today, he watched Lucifer pick out a dress for her and then….

Sam was pleased that Jo had gone hunting even if it had ended in her being hurt for doing so. She'd done a bit of good despite her situation. Lucifer wasn't pleased by that thought, forcing Sam to stay awake for the rest of the night and watch everything he did to her.

Anything Sam thought, the angel knew. It was also true in reverse when he was awake. What Lucifer thought, Sam knew.

Lucifer had a plan for breaking Jo and a plan for a broken Jo. Her independent streak had to go first. The rest would follow. Eventually. It wasn't like he didn't have all the time in the universe to work on her. She'd given him that of her own free will. Her choice.

* * *

The dress -- if it could be called such a thing -- was dark blue and spaghetti strapped, the front draping low across her breasts and the back draping low along her lower back. The only thing keeping it on her really was the velvet ribbon trim tie that ran across her back at her shoulder blades. The dress was knee length, yet slit to such a degree on both sides, that if she walked with anything but mincing steps she'd be flashing panties. Not that she could figure out how to wear underwear beneath it anyway, reluctantly giving up on the task when she saw she only had minutes left before he wanted her ready. It felt weird to be naked beneath the dress.

Jo left her hair down, grabbed up a pair of earrings and a necklace, and reached for the lowest of the high heels that were in the closet. None of them were anything she'd picked out and the lowest had to be four inches. Mascara and tinted lip gloss were all the make-up she had time for.

Meg opened the bedroom door and looked in. "Don't you look slutty."

"That's the idea apparently."

"Attending an orgy? Have fun!"

Brushing past her without comment, Jo made her way down the hall and into the living room. He was waiting, also in dark blue, turning at the tap of her heels in the hallway. My, she thought, aren't we the match-y twins tonight? Is that a silk shirt he's wearing?

Strange to see something like that on Sam's body. She recalled Sam in cotton and denim, both things this angel was slowly phasing from his wardrobe.

"Prompt. Excellent, Jo. I should give you points for that." He held out one hand to her, beckoning and inviting her to take it.

Half afraid she was going to topple over in the heels, Jo picked her way across the carpet to him, hesitating a fraction before setting her hand in his. "So how are we getting to this --"

In a blink, they were in another location, standing in the entry of another apartment. For a few seconds, Jo thought she was going to throw up and swallowed hard to stave off such an occurrence. "Next time, could you warn me?" Placing one hand on her stomach, she gulped down a breath.

"I'll consider it."

In only a few steps, they were in the middle of the festivities.

She hated parties like this. Stupid, arrogant people mingling with other stupid, arrogant people, talking about how great they were, or in this case, how great _he_ was. These were among the elite of his human followers and they all looked at her like she was a pretty thing on his arm. In their eyes were glints of envy, lust, and pride.

What am I, the trophy girlfriend, Jo asked herself. Weird.

Why was he even playing along with them? They were like 'worshippers light', believing some bizarre, romantic view of him that had little to do with the real thing. These people had watched too many movies, read too much fiction. She watched him work through the gathering, smirk in place, thanking each one for their unswerving devotion. Jo wondered how soon until each one was murdered.

She was tugged along with him, his arm about her and hand warm on her waist until they reached the far end of the room. Then, quiet descended. They were waiting for him to speak, she realized. What he said was not what she was expecting.

"Beautiful, is she not?" He touched her hair, fingers a caress on the side of her face. "An excellent choice."

Licking her lips, she tried to keep from flinching away from him. A clammy sweat coated her palms and she blotted them against the fabric of her dress.

The men and women answered with an affirmative. In Jo's opinion, they looked like a herd of sheep pausing in their grazing.

"Shall I disclose her full beauty?" Slowly, he moved behind her, fingers hooking in the spaghetti straps, the touch tickling.

Jo caught the dress before it could fall, hands pressing it to her breasts. He turned her to face him. "What are you doing," she hissed. His head bent to hers, mouth at her ear.

"Giving them what their salacious imaginations believe I'm here for: to show off the royal concubine. Most here think my reign will be orgies and rewards for my faithful human followers."

"That's absurd." His fingers glided up her back to the tie. It loosened until her hands were the only thing keeping the dress up. Jo was beginning to hate being right. Trophy girlfriend indeed. "How could they think that?"

"Do you believe any of them really have a grasp of the whole of me?"

"No." She knew they didn't. It was all over their faces and posture. They had no idea the power he had and the fullness of the horrors they'd eventually find in him. For that matter, she had yet to plumb the depths of him and knew now that she didn't want to sink further than she already had.

"Their concept of me is quite a human one. Drop the dress." He moved his mouth to her other ear. "Close your eyes and think of Nebraska."

"You're lying to them."

"I'm simply choosing to let them continue believing what they do. How is that lying?"

He gave a tug, the dress slipping from her grasp, a silky slithering down her body to the floor, leaving her naked in a room full of strangers. Her own belief that he'd only humiliate her in private was a naïve one that was wholly wrong. She should have known better.

Jo swallowed her tears and promised herself she would cry later.

The freaks he was showing her off to inspected her, looking her over like a prized cow, murmuring about her pretty skin and lovely figure. None touched her at least. A small mercy. His hands were the only ones on her body, turning her, leaving her no remaining portion of modesty. It seemed to take forever before he held the dress up for her to put back on. Jo's face felt hot and when she pressed a trembling hand to it, she discovered she'd been crying after all.

And then she had to stand around, drink funny tasting fizzy water, eat hors d'oeuvres that she couldn't identify, and make small talk with those same people until he was ready to leave them. There wasn't even any alcohol to dull her mortification.

Snatches of conversation reached her as she walked about the room playing the waiting game and trying to avoid direct contact with any of them. A high proportion of those talks she heard seemed to center around children. Had a child been conceived or would it be soon? Jo didn't listen too carefully, more concerned with keeping herself together than in their banal banter.

At last, he indicated it was time to take their leave. Jo never would have thought she'd be glad to see him, but she was, if only to get away from this place and these people.

He wanted her willing when they returned, pinning her to the wall in the living room and sliding the hem of the dress up her thighs. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms about his shoulders and tried to pretend he was Sam.

"Uh-uh, Jo. Open those pretty eyes." His lips brushed her temple.

"Screw you," she snapped, turning her face aside. That bit of bravado was an attempt to hide her ever-present fear of him.

"We'll get to that in due time. First," he shifted her a little so that he held her up with one arm. His free hand stroked her face, pushing her hair back, "I want you to look at me."

Lips tight, she did as he told her, loosing a sob as she met his gaze with her own.

"Such defiance," he commented. "Such an independent spirit. So much of you to explore still."

It was a very long night.

* * *

He didn't particularly like sex. It was a human thing and was, as such, grotesque. But having used it in the terms of the deal with Jo -- to belittle and demean her rather successfully -- he had to stick with those terms. Even he had some rules to follow, irksome though it was. Human bodies, human urges. Sam's body roused easily enough in response to Jo and more so once he decided to tease Sam with her. When he visited Jo, he let Sam wake to experience all he put her through whether pleasant or no.

Occasionally, he took direction from Sam's thoughts, touching and kissing her as Sam wanted, investing Sam in the 'relationship'. Sam enjoyed being with Jo and Lucifer enjoyed hurting both of them in various ways. It was a win-win situation.

Jo Harvelle interested him. He'd expected her independence to split in two with little effort, yet here she was still fighting, while giving the illusion of submission. The choices she kept making intrigued him. What would it take to finally fully break her will?

* * *

"Why did you pick me?" The question was one she'd been thinking about a lot since that party he'd taken her to. Three weeks had passed since then. He'd been in the apartment most of the time, forcing her to spend her days and nights with him, to be on-call so to speak for twenty fours hours a day, seven days a week. Jo was exhausted. Being around him for so many hours at a time took a lot out of her, especially when he decided to be attentive in a human fashion. She couldn't eat much with him watching her and her hands had developed a nervous tremor that didn't stop. A few times, Jo'd found herself sitting with her knees drawn up and arms about them, rocking back and forth over and over.

Constant fear was draining.

During those weeks, Meg made herself scarce. Jo didn't particularly care where Meg went as long as she was gone. She despised having that one watch over her all the time. "Weren't there other women out there?"

"It couldn't be just any woman, Jo. It had to be you." His hands arranged a vase of flowers. The act looked absurd: his hands gently moving the delicate flowers into one of the most pleasing arrangements she'd ever seen. He had a good eye for color and beauty. Strange that pure evil could appreciate beauty.

"But why?"

He considered her a moment, probably gauging her weakness for the day, then said, "Emotional connections are extremely important for the proper functioning of human beings, wouldn't you say? Consider Sam's relationship with Dean, that main emotional connection. He needed it, needed the affirmations and what-not, and in the end, that same connection damaged him. I'd guess Dean was damaged from it as well. As close as they were…."

She watched him begin adding greenery to the flowers next, tucking a bit here, a bit there, and drew her legs up, wrapping her arms about them. Jo rested her chin on her knees, waiting for him to continue. She wanted answers on so many things, but he was slippery, never quite telling her enough to end her curiosity, only to whet it further.

"Sam had very few women in his life that were somewhat close to him and that he had feelings for. Connections. Jess would have been ideal. Sam truly loved her. However, Azazel killed her. I'm not faulting him, he did what he thought was necessary to bring us to where we are today. One crack in Sam's psyche was accomplished with her death. He never quite recovered." Arrangement completed, he took it to the dining table and set it there before returning to the living room. He poured two glasses of water from a carafe, brought her one and sat in the chair across from the couch with the other.

Jo drank half the water, then set the glass on the mahogany coffee table. She didn't bother with a coaster. Was he going to get to the point anytime soon? Not for the first time, Jo noticed he liked to talk and be the one talking.

"Madison would have been second. She and Sam had a quick, deep connection. Sam killed her himself though. She was a werewolf. She was dangerous and it had to be done. Crack two in the psyche. That woman Sarah, the one who died right over there by the fireplace," he pointed towards it, "was not ideal. More feelings on her part than his, though he tried to convince himself otherwise. He did like her, but not enough. That left you, little Jo that he liked and wanted to protect."

Now he pointed at her, the beginnings of an unpleasant smirk upon his lips.

"You see, that friendship you began in Philadelphia, while Dean lay sleeping in that chair, could have grown into more long-term. The seeds were there. In a different world, where _my_ plan didn't come to fruition and the end was averted, you easily could have gravitated to one another. You never would have been another Jess, but you could have been close -- under the right circumstances."

"I'm third best. You just said. Third best after two dead chicks and one dead not-so-right chick."

One hand waved. "And?"

"That still doesn't tell me why. Why not pick some random woman?" She shrugged. "I mean, you've taken Sam over, so this walk through Sam's emotional connections means nothing. This isn't about Sam and connections. You picked me for some other reason."

"Are you so sure about that, Jo?"

No, but she nodded anyway. "Yes. You're just screwing with me right now, trying to mess with my head."

Cool amusement glinted in his eyes. "I let him wake up sometimes so he can see you here with me. With us. Does that tell you what you want to know?"

Not completely. It told her some without fully answering the question. He'd picked her partially to torture what remained of Sam inside him.

"You see, Jo, I'm not just screwing with _you_. I'm screwing with Sam as well."

* * *

Sam pressed a kiss to her neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume. Due to Lucifer's distaste for intimate physical contact, Sam was allowed to experience the brunt of each physical encounter with Jo, while Lucifer still pulled all the strings of his body. He had no control and never would again, but he had all of the physical sensation and the occasional illusion of control when Lucifer would touch Jo as Sam wanted to.

He was ashamed to admit that Jo there with him was a torture and comfort at the same time. Torture because he couldn't interact with her unless Lucifer let him. He couldn't be himself. Comfort because, when he did interact with her, her voice and warmth soothed some of the ache of loss he felt. He had the emotional connection Lucifer liked to talk about humans needing. In the dark of night, or light of day, he enjoyed her against him, hands traveling her curves in slow sweeps.

In a moment, he'd kiss his way down her, drag his tongue across her belly and feel it quiver. He'd cover her body with his and pretend he'd never given in that day long ago. Sam would live a fantasy until Lucifer forced him to sleep once more.

* * *

While she didn't recall any history of depression in her family, Jo suffered from terrible bouts of it as the days stretched into weeks, coming up on five months since she'd made that deal with him. There were days where she could barely crawl from bed and days she did nothing but stare at the walls. Didn't she have a right to be depressed? She was a prisoner now, going nowhere outside the apartment without Meg at her side. Not to mention every aspect of her life when Lucifer wasn't there was dissected for him by both Marta and Meg upon his return, which seemed pointless to Jo. Didn't he already know this stuff? Why would he care if she ate or didn't, or if she stayed awake for three days without sleep? What point was there in telling him how many days her period lasted or when she wore the same jeans five times in one week without washing them?

Maybe that was the point. There _was_ no point. Just screwing with her head again. She thought he would have gotten tired of that by now. Didn't he have humanity to destroy?

"What do _you_ have to be depressed about?" Meg spat the words at her. "You get _his_ attention, which is more than most of us get. You should feel honored he chose you, that you get to spend eternity with him." She eyed Jo with disdain. "You're so not worthy for that. You've no idea the full magnitude of the privilege bestowed upon you, a mere human woman. It's sad really." She shook her head. "I just don't get why he'd choose a human. It makes no sense. With all of us willing to be his companion why choose a thing he has nothing but hatred for?"

Jo flipped through a gossip magazine with no real interest in the stories or pictures. It was one of Meg's purchases. Several of the female celebrities had eyes and teeth blacked out with blue ink and Heidi Klum sported a dragon's tail, two extra arms and legs, and a jester's hat. Meg's version of a coloring book she supposed. "Are you complaining about his decision? Because I could tell him you were."

Her eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

Two of his immediate followers had already been dispatched due to rumblings of displeasure regarding how things were progressing. He did it as one would swat a pesky gnat -- without concern or care. She'd witnessed both. Mildly interesting to watch a demon implode. Jo shrugged. "No skin off my back. Possibly yours though. He doesn't care much for any of you complaining I've noticed. You follow his orders or else. Half of you are so eager to be in his entourage that you'll question nothing and the other half are very careful he doesn't hear your dissent."

Meg's hands clenched into tight fists. "I could give you such pain, sweetie, that --"

Jo flipped the magazine closed and tossed it aside. She yawned so wide that her jaw popped. "Please. You're pathetic, Meg, if you think you can do anything to me. No one plays with Lucifer's toys but him and if you do…bye-bye." She waved at Meg.

"Bitch."

"I just know where I stand in his scheme of things. He wants to be the only one to hurt me, to break me. You touch me with one finger and he'll blast you to oblivion for daring to touch his toy." She could hear the weariness in her own voice, not quite despondency, yet damn close.

"I'm not going anywhere. I plan on being here when he breaks you. Every time. You think you're so strong, Jo, but I've got news for you. He broke you once already when you made that deal with him. Cracked you in two like a brittle bone, sucked out some marrow, left you weak. He can break you again and again, anytime he wants, and keep it going until the end of all time."

"And that's no reason to be depressed?" Turning on the couch, Jo put her feet on the coffee table. "Toss me the remote, will you? Oprah's on in five. She's discussing that new strain of mad cow disease today." Jo glanced up at Meg's angry features. "Since you _are_ a mad cow, want to stay and watch it?"

Meg turned on her heel and stormed from the living room. Within seconds, Marta appeared, shaking her head. Of course she'd heard the entire exchange. She always did and reported what Meg didn't.

"You should not bait her like that. He would not like that, Ms. Harvelle."

Jo reached for the remote, turning on the tv and flipping channels until she found the right one. "Like he cares about any of them really. They're disposable to him. I don't see him doing anything for anyone but himself."

"You didn't learn your lesson from the last time you hurt one of them?"

Marta's tone sent an icy chill along her spine. While the words were ones Marta would say, the entire way she'd said them was wrong. Off. Jo swallowed hard, then licked her lips and pretended she hadn't noticed that Lucifer was playing games again.

"Oh, I learned it, but baiting Meg isn't exorcising her from that body. It's not like I'm slapping down a devil's trap, circling her with salt, and practicing my Latin. I'm baiting her. Verbal sound bites designed to get her riled. Pushing her buttons cheers me up because she reacts so predictably. I get the upper hand."

"You enjoy fighting with her?"

"Verbal sparring breaks the tedium. Besides, she's a horrible card player and I always win at Monopoly. There's no challenge in that."

"You want a challenge, Jo?" His voice now, not Marta's. She didn't turn her head to see if he'd morphed back to Sam's body as well. "I could take care of that."

She raised the volume on the tv, ignoring the question. "Oprah's on. Shh."

He touched her shoulders, massaged them a moment, then leaned down, voice in her right ear. "That's what I thought. Tease Meg if you like, but if I do catch you slapping down a devil's trap, you know the consequences."

He would carve her up on the inside until she bled from her nose, ears…any place that could ooze out blood. Once he was done there, he'd move to her outer body, drawing his sigil over and over on her skin until she could barely see flesh between the cuts. Then, as she started to slip into death, he'd heal her.

Yeah. Jo knew the consequences. She'd lived them a couple times already. Terror had become commonplace in her life until it was just another thing she endured. Her hands had quit shaking and her appetite returned somewhat. Jo lived with her fear every hour of every day. She dreaded the day she'd realize she no longer feared at all, for when that day came, she'd be broken.

She watched tv all afternoon and evening, flipping channels from one program to another, trying to find something that appealed. She ended up watching a Project Runway marathon only because Meg wouldn't stay and watch it with her.

Boredom in her circumstances had set in quickly. Without hunting or a job, what was there to hold her attention? She worked her way through Netflix, read. Jo went online to pass the time, searching out information that might help her, and when that didn't turn up anything, she dragged Meg to the library to search out rare books. Meg was willing to translate for her, making snarky commentary as she did so. All Jo learned depressed her more. The mark on her wrist was his sigil, just as she'd thought. She wondered if it was the mark of the beast mentioned in The Bible. There was no triple six on it anywhere, so maybe not? Maybe, just maybe, there would be some way to escape? The evidence she'd found pointed against escape, however.

Deals made with him were hardly ever broken. In the tales she'd poured through, welching on a deal with him was the worst thing a person could do -- aside from entering into one to begin with.

As for her demon bodyguard…. She hadn't been kidding when she'd told him Meg was a lousy card and Monopoly player. Meg also sucked at Scrabble, Clue, and Boggle. Her skills at pool and darts were marginal. She did, however, excel at Battleship and chess. Didn't that just figure? _And_ she was a poor loser. Out of all the poor losers Jo had seen in her time, Meg took the prize. She'd throw a tantrum, throw things around and act like the basic three year old.

Jo sighed.

She'd already spent hours wandering the nearly empty stores to pass time. People were beginning to be scared to go outside for fear of catching the disease, so Jo and Meg had the sales to themselves. Occasionally, Jo would buy clothes for Meg and tell her she needed to trash the smelly things she wore and take a shower because she stank to high heaven. It wasn't true, but it did produce a curling of the demon's upper lip. Jo noticed Meg never refused the clothes, even wore the newest pieces when _he_ visited.

How sweet. Meg had a crush on Lucifer.

If the whole situation wasn't so tragic, Jo would laugh at that.

She'd been pushing the limits with Meg, very aware that there'd be some point eventually where the demon would lose control of her temper and Lucifer would send her away like he had others. She just had to find the point.

Unfortunately, Meg knew both what Jo was attempting and Lucifer's tendencies. Made it all the harder, if not darn near impossible. Still, Jo persisted. Ellen had always said her stubbornness was a gift and a curse.

Jo missed her mom. Their relationship had it's ups and downs over the years, yet Jo had always known Ellen would be there for her no matter what happened. She knew that Ellen would tell her she'd been stupid for making a deal, maybe yell at her a good long while, but then she'd get down to the business of freeing Jo from that deal if possible. She kept trying the phone, getting voicemail. Was her mom getting the messages? Was she even now trying to figure out how to help? Or did she think it was a trick, that Jo was safe with Sam somewhere?

She wanted Ellen to come in, take her in her arms, and tell her it was going to be okay, even if it wasn't.

Lucifer told her Ellen knew she was safe and was glad of it. He said it over and over.

Sometimes, a girl just needed her mom and his assurance didn't negate that.

Curling on the couch cushions, she stared at the tv and cried. She was sliding into numbness when her phone rang. It hadn't made a sound in weeks. She'd kept it charged just in case. Jo sat up, reaching for it, drying her eyes with a hand as the number registered in her mind.

* * *

After having spent those months with his dad's phone charged, checking it every so often for messages, Dean should have been doing that with Ellen's phone. The thought occurred to him one night as he waited for Cas and Bobby to arrive. He plugged it in, pleased he'd picked a place that still had some juice to it, and waited for the phone to charge.

Ellen had messages. They were static filled, scratchy, and all from Jo. He listened to them, trying to piece together information from the few clear bursts of her voice. The last one was from earlier that day.

Heart pounding fast, Dean called the number.

"Mom?" Her voice was husky, as though she'd been crying and Dean could hear something in the background. A tv? Other people? "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Regret in her tone.

"Jo, it's Dean."

Static and then, "Dean? Dean is…"

"Can you tell me where you are? I'll come get you. "

"…Illinois…can't leave…he's…"

"_Where_ in Illinois?"

"…help me, please…"

The call went to full static.

Dean made a noise of frustration and looked up to see Castiel and Bobby in the doorway watching him. "Jo's alive," he told them.

"Great to hear, Dean, but we've got problems," Bobby announced, wheeling inside the room and stopping in front of him. He jerked a thumb at Cas. "Tinkerbelle here has lost all his powers. Every last one."

"And that means what exactly?"

Castiel looked for all the world like a lost little boy as he shook his head. "I don't know what it means. Not yet, anyway."

"Great. So what do we do now?"

Cas had been their advantage. A small one, an edge. Without his powers what did they really have besides three guys with guns and attitude?

* * *

It was no more than twenty seconds at most. A few brief seconds of Dean's voice in her ear. Jo had never heard anything so beautiful as him asking where she was and saying he'd come get her. She suspected the static had kept him from hearing her location, but even if it had, his voice had bolstered her.

He gave her hope she had fast been losing.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Fields of Paper Flowers  
Chapter: 4  
Summary: Jo has become separated from Ellen in the early days of a bleak future. Believing Ellen in danger, Jo makes a desperate deal with Lucifer-possessed-Sam. Too late, she realizes what his terms really mean: she's his. Always his. His to tease, his to torment, his to break.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect is intended.  
Notes: Thanks so much for the reviews!

* * *

Another evening, another dinner he expected her to talk through. Jo closed the dessert menu she'd been reading to pass time and glanced around the restaurant. It was mostly empty. It wouldn't surprise her to discover that the places he took her to were run by demons now and not people -- running them just for him. The Croatoan Virus was definitely making it's way across the country. She didn't think it'd take too much longer before the major cities were taken, including Chicago where he kept her. Had to be soon. A few more weeks, maybe a month or two at most. Every day she saw more fires burning from her window, watched looters in the street below. She heard gunfire and the screams of people in the streets. It seemed impossible to her that it _wouldn't_ be soon.

The measures the government had taken to contain the virus had failed. It spread no matter what they did.

She glanced at Lucifer, quickly turning her attention elsewhere upon noting that he was studying her. Jo tucked her hair behind her ears. "You're staring."

"Is that bothering you?" A polite query as he leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table, hands clasping.

Jo rolled her eyes.

"So yes then?"

She was searching for a reply when their server came through the door from the kitchen, tray in hand. To her surprise, she brought two plates filled with food instead of one. Two identical plates were set onto the table. Lucifer directed a gracious smile at their server, who flushed and smiled herself before walking away. Charming, Jo thought. He could be charming when he wanted.

"You're eating?" Jo watched him, a little confused. He never ate when they went to dinner, preferring to sip on water, wine, or some other beverage and watch her. The one thing she could count on was that he would stare at her, like he had tonight already. At times, his scrutiny bordered on ridiculous and she had the odd sensation that he studied her in order to understand something about her that continued to elude him.

"You always order steak in some form or another whenever I take you out. I'm curious as to the appeal for you."

"Isn't meat what animals are _supposed_ to eat?" She'd once brought up that if she was an animal like he ascertained, his having sex with her was bestiality. In response, he'd raised his brows and given her an asthma attack that lasted for nearly an hour, letting her gasp for breath until it pleased him to stop it. Then, he'd conceded that she had something of a point in that he was inhabiting Sam's body, however if humans were animals, Sam was too. That meant it was simply two animals having a go at each other, not bestiality. The fact that he was inhabiting Sam's body didn't count. Jo had decided not to argue any further with him on it. She liked breathing, thank you very much.

His glance raised from the plate. "_You_ don't eat it for that reason."

"You're right." She reached for her silverware. "I only order steak because it's generally the most expensive thing on the menu, especially now since cows are becoming rare from the disease scares. If chicken or fish was more expensive, I'd get that instead. You said to get what I want, so I am." It was frighteningly easy to spend the money on that card he'd given her. Jo still wasn't sure if it was real or if he somehow made all the stores think it was. It wasn't like she was flashing cash around to purchase items. That card was the only currency she had. Well, until there was no one to run the stores and she could take what she wanted.

"How childish. Attempting to 'stick it' to me. Yet how amusing as well."

She cut her steak into small bites, poured steak sauce over them with a liberal hand, then mashed butter and sour cream into her potato, observing him do the same minus the steak sauce. Was he really going to eat?

Spearing a bite, he lifted it, studied it, and chewed on it for what seemed like forever, a frown on his lips. "You like this texture and flavor?"

"Try it with the sauce." Jo handed it across the table to him. "Haven't you eaten anything before right now? Ever? In thousands of years?"

"No." The second bite he also chewed a long while. "Steak appeals to this body. Sam liked steak."

"Most guys do. You mean you don't need to eat anything at all to keep Sam…that body running?"

"No. I drink liquids because I wish to, but it's not necessary for me to eat or drink. I _am_ a supernatural being, Jo."

Jo was silent a moment, taking a drink from her beer. "So, does Sam…."

"Does he what?"

"Does he ever get to look out his own eyes anymore? _Really_ look, like if you left his body."

He cut more of his steak, then stared at her. "Sam's not really home enough if I were to leave. He's…disconnected from his body. That part of him that had access to the controls of his body has no access anymore. He'd no longer know what he was seeing, nor could he process the images in any way that made sense. When I let him see you, he sees because I see and allow _him_ to see through my control."

She pushed her own steak bites about her plate. "Did he know that would happen to him?"

"He didn't care. When I found him, he was ready to hand over the reigns to me. Too much guilt and emotional pain for him to endure. He was in a very low place --"

"And you took advantage," she interrupted.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

His is attention dipped down her and Jo glanced down to see what he was looking at. A good portion of her cleavage, she saw, all shoved up and in as far as it could go courtesy of Victoria's Secret. Tugging the bodice of her dress back up a fraction, she cleared her throat. He was getting better at choosing dresses she was comfortable in, yet sometimes, like this one, he'd choose something she rather thought a hooker would wear. "He's trapped in there with you. What kind of life is that?"

"He no longer wished to use his body. I don't believe he'd many thoughts on quality of life at that point. He didn't want it and I did. Why should it have gone to waste? One of us should make use of it."

"How much of that state he was in was your doing?"

"How many questions are going to come flying out of your mouth?"

She shrugged a brow and ate half of her steak and a bite of potato before responding. "You wanted conversation. I'm conversing."

"If I want a whore, you going to fulfill that as well?"

Jo bared her teeth in a smile without mirth. "Isn't that what I already am and do?"

"You're mouthy is what you are."

"Like you don't like that?"

"I do like it, but don't push me." A steely warning.

She nodded, gaze falling from his. So civilized. He always tried to be civilized, reminding her incessantly that he was really an angel and so far above her in the order of creation that she was like dirt beneath the dirt under his feet. Sometimes they'd be talking and the way he spoke was pure Sam. In those moments, she could forget her situation. It didn't happen much, but it did occasionally happen.

"I tried my mom's phone again."

He shoved his plate aside. "And?"

"Voicemail. I want to talk to her. I miss her. Why won't she call me back?" It still worked, voicemail picking up, so the bill was being paid. But why had Dean called that day on Ellen's phone and not his own? That had been nagging at her for nearly a month now.

Now, he shook his head. "We talked about this, Jo. She knows you're safe and not hunting. You're living the life she always wanted for you: financial security and personal safety from chaos. You think she'd jeopardize that by contacting you? Doing so could get you back out there right where she never wanted you to begin with. She wants you safe. You know that. Not to mention that talk you and I had about hunting."

"I just want to hear her voice. That's all."

"She's safe from the infected, Jo."

"Can't I see her for like, a minute? You could do that. I know you could. Please. You never said I couldn't see her when we made that deal."

"I'm saying it now. No."

The finality in the word hurt. A small part of her was coming to the realization that he'd lied to her about her mom, but most of Jo still accepted his fiction for her. It was easier than acknowledging she'd probably damned herself for nothing.

* * *

The cell company must have been hit with the virus because no one answered Dean's call. He was pretty sure Jo had GPS turned on on her phone. However, without a tech on the other end helping him out, he couldn't find her that way. Damn.

"I have nothing," Cas told him. For an hour he'd been trying to use powers that just weren't there anymore.

"That makes two of us. Any ideas, Bobby?"

Bobby eyed him a moment. "You really want to run after Jo after what Lucifer did to her mama?"

"Are you suggesting I leave her wherever she is?" He shook his head. "I told her I'd come get her. I promised her."

"I'm not suggesting leaving her, but we can't get her without a location, Dean."

"I know that." He was going to have to leave her there, wasn't he? At least until he had a location. Dean turned, pressing his hands against the wall and bowed his head, trying to reign in that helpless sensation working through him. He despised that sensation of free-falling with no control over the circumstances surrounding him. He'd failed Sam and Ellen. He wasn't about to fail Jo as well. There had to be a way to do something.

* * *

Jo woke to Lucifer in bed with her. She'd come to understand that he didn't really want sex from her. It was more of a puppet on a string thing, showing her how inferior she was. Half asleep, she slid her flannel pajamas off. They were perfect for the cooler October nights by herself, but not for his visits. If she'd known he'd show up, she would have worn one of those stupid little pointless lacy lingerie pieces that didn't have to be removed for easy and total access.

This time, he didn't want her compliance. He wanted her screams and once Jo started she discovered it was hard to stop, a part of her teetering on that dangerous edge of hysteria. He let her scream herself hoarse as he pounded fast and hard into her, bruising those delicate tissues over and over, making her bleed.

When her screams had quieted and he lay beside her, he remarked, "You humans have these odd compulsions for food and sex."

Is that what using her was? An odd compulsion he was trying to figure out? Her lower lip quivered. "How's that whole human body thing working out for you," she spat, surprised by the extent of the malice in her own voice.

"How's the whole Lucifer's whore thing working out for you," he countered with a bored air.

Jo closed her eyes. "If you hate humans so much, and everything we are and do, then why me? Why make that deal, seal it _that_ way, and keep coming back?" It was the question she kept returning to over and over. Why her? He'd told her she was special, that it could only have been her, but why? What was it that made her that one he'd wanted?

"You have to ask, Jo?"

She rolled onto her side away from him, hoping he'd heal her soon of the damage he'd just inflicted and knowing that most likely he'd let her experience it until morning. It wouldn't be the first time. He enjoyed letting her stew in the pains he caused, whether physical or emotional. Jo had the uncomfortable idea that he was training her in some way for an unknown task.

His warmth was against her back. "Because playing the whore demeans you, hurts and humiliates you. Every time I visit you it breaks a piece of your emotional strength away. Slow erosion. It makes you feel every bit as worthless as you are. Your worth to me is only as an example of how low you humans will sink yourselves. You've gone about as far as one can go." His fingers stroked her arm with a light, caressing touch. "Let's recap. You made a rash deal to save your mother and Dean Winchester without real proof they were in danger. You agreed to sell your body and soul to me -- not a lowly demon, but a powerful angel you firmly believe is absolute blackest evil. The bill of sale also included immunity from the disease and invisibility to the infected parties. And you accepted whatever I want to do to you for all of eternity. How eager you were to toss aside any lingering bits of virtue! God gave you that body, that soul, lovingly crafted them, and you sold them to _me_."

A kiss was placed on her shoulder.

"As for why I come back… I do so because it was part of our deal, remember? Companionship specified as conversation, dinner, sex. I _am_ bound by the terms the same as you. However, making it pleasurable for you at times feeds into your self-loathing which continues to prove your inferiority. Everything you dislike is my playground."

Amusement colored his voice, though she knew if she were to look at him, she'd see nothing of it on his face or hint in his eyes. Perhaps a tiny smirk on his lips and nothing more. That time of pretending to be Sam, of trying out his identity to get close to those closest to him in some way was done. He was Lucifer now.

"You did ask, Jo. I told you I wouldn't lie to you and I didn't."

* * *

_Time to wake, Sam._

Lucifer's command was loud and Sam came into consciousness, falling into a scene that wasn't real. With a touch, Lucifer had invaded Jo's dreams, manipulating the scene into what he wanted to show her. It wasn't enough to control her every waking moment. Now, he would delve into her subconscious.

Sam watched as the room changed, became less opulent, more working class. He blinked. The edges of his vision were still a little out of focus, but the scene itself was familiar. This room was one of the nicer motel rooms he'd been in over the years. Slowly, details were added to give it a homey touch. Candles, cell phones on the dresser, clothes strewn about, a clothes basket, books…all the sorts of things a couple collected in their bedroom. This was one of the scenes in his recurring fantasy, right down to the color of the sheets and the throw pillow on the chair in the corner. In his fantasy, Sam had tried to decorate the rooms with an eye to what a woman might pick out, aided by his memories of some of Jess's favorite accessories.

He wanted to protest, embarrassed by this further invasion of himself, yet any protest he made would be ineffectual. Lucifer would do whatever he wanted regardless.

_Do you think Jo would like to share your fantasy for the two of you? I'll have to change a few details here and there, of course. Make it real._

In the dream, Jo woke…and Sam's fantasy was laid out before her in all of it's intricate detail.

* * *

It didn't feel like she'd woken. There was no weight sensation to her body and yet she had to be awake, right? Jo couldn't recall ever having a dream that kept such clarity. Point A to point B and so on. Her usual dreams skipped around and didn't make much sense when she woke. This couldn't be a dream.

Or could it?

Sam stood by the bed, watching her. He slipped his hands into his jeans pockets. "Well? Are we shopping or not?" He looked freshly showered, hair damp.

"Shopping?" She sat, holding the sheet to her naked body. The room was average in size, decorated in a cut above motel chic. Nice and not lavish. This was a comfortable room she could see herself spending time in.

His brows rose. "Your idea, Jo. Something about a family holiday with Dean, Lisa, Ben, Bobby and Ellen?"

Who the heck were Lisa and Ben, she wondered, frowning. "I don't remember saying that."

"I'm not surprised," he said, sitting on the bedside and reaching out a hand. His fingers touched her brow, a quick gentle brush. "You said it after getting this lovely goose egg on your forehead. Probably a concussion. I should keep a close eye on you today, maybe not go anywhere at all. In fact, maybe I should just join you under those covers." He shrugged a brow and leaned in to kiss her.

She leaned away. "Sam?"

"I don't get a good morning kiss?"

She could smell coffee and cinnamon rolls through the door on her left. Her favorite breakfast. Those scents mingled with the pleasant smell of his aftershave and the mint of toothpaste. "I don't remember anything at all."

His eyes narrowed a little, hand caressing along her bare arm. "Quick. Name, date of birth…" a slow playful grin curved his lips, "…bra size."

"Funny. No, I mean I don't remember…" A visual tour of the room revealed a very lived in, obviously cohabitated bedroom. Clothes in a basket and on the floor, what looked like her perfume bottle on the dresser right next to a cell phone plugged into a charger. A couple books on the table on the other side of the bed, and more. The next word was a question. "Us?"

Sam watched her a moment before sitting back and releasing her. "You're serious."

"Yeah."

"That's quite a lot not to remember, Jo."

"Humor me?"

"Maybe I should get you to a hospital and get that bump looked at," he replied, yet he didn't get up from the bed. Instead, he moved up beside her and laid down. "Where should I begin?"

"The beginning."

With a slow nod, he began to take her through their life.

* * *

The story Lucifer wove for her was convincing, far more so than the brief Lucifer-free history Sam had envisioned for them. Lucifer told her that Dean had packed her back to Ellen not long after Jo had arrived in Philadelphia; that Jo had fought every step of the way and sworn not to forgive Dean for that. Then he told her that he'd fought with Dean over the matter and gone with her, staying in Nebraska for a short while before returning to help Dean. From there, the storyline of their life was simple.

Azazel was defeated. There was no possession by Meg, no desperate crossroads deal, and the Roadhouse was never destroyed. Angels didn't come to play. Sam kept in touch with her and everything went so logically in the story that it could be true.

Except it wasn't, and soon Jo was going to have to wake up.

Sam watched her think about it and wondered what was going to happen when she woke to discover she'd dreamt this happy future before her. What was the angel hoping to accomplish with the story? His thoughts were silent on that matter, Sam deciding Lucifer must have decided his goals for it before waking Sam.

He watched himself with Jo, going about day-to-day things. Shopping, lunch out, watching a movie, cooking dinner. Her dream self relaxed, gaining vitality as the 'day' went by until she was the flirtatious Jo he'd first met. She pressed against his dream self, willingly shedding her clothes.

Abruptly, his vision made a weird shift. While he could still see her dream self, he saw her real self as well, like twin movie screens side by side. When his dream self touched her, his real self did too. A double violation. All he could do was watch.

* * *

Sam's arm was warm about her and Jo snuggled closer, sliding her hand across his chest to embrace him tighter. The time they'd spent together just now had made some of the horror of that Lucifer thing go away.

Bad dream, she thought drowsily. The whole deal with Lucifer had been a bad dream.

Sliding her foot along his calf, she pressed a kiss to his chest, rubbing her cheek against his skin. Jo wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with him all day, letting that nightmare slip into oblivion. She sighed, sleep beginning to tug her back under it's waves.

His hand trailed along her arm, head turning and lips brushing her forehead. "You've been holding out on me, Jo."

Her eyes snapped open, all thoughts of sleep leaving her. The voice was Sam's, the inflections were not. Raising up, she found Lucifer and not Sam looking at her. _Not_ Sam.

She scrambled up and away, falling backwards off the bed and landing hard. Her heart was a painful pounding in her chest, mouth opening, then closing. No, no, no, please! The urge to laugh was overwhelming, that hysteria always beneath the surface of her now beginning to rise. She clenched her jaw to keep from loosing those mad peals because once she started, she wasn't going to stop. Jo knew it.

He raised up on one elbow. "Quite the uninhibited creature, aren't you?"

That future with Sam had been a dream. This? This was her reality. Stark. Horrible.

"All that passion bottled inside of you."

How long she sat naked on the carpet staring at him she didn't know. One thought kept circling in her mind: I've got to get away from him. Somehow.

* * *

She wasn't behaving the way he expected her to.

Sam would have smiled if he could. Jo was confusing Lucifer. He couldn't figure out what exactly she was doing as she sat there staring at him.

She pulled herself together slowly. He could see the struggle on her face to get herself under control, but she did, lips tightening into a thin line as she stood, her eyes wide. Jo reached for her robe and pulled it on as she went to the door and into the hallway.

Sliding from the bed, Lucifer followed her. "Jo?"

There was no answer. His attention fell to the sway of her hips as she strode into the kitchen. Jo opened the fridge and started moving things around, finally reaching into the back and pulling out a bottle of beer. With the fridge door still open, she opened the bottle and chugged the liquid until it was gone, giving a belch worthy of Dean at his best.

"Want a beer," she asked, reaching for two more and drawing them out.

"Not especially."

"Oh come on. Sam might like one after that work you just put him through."

He took the beer. "Are you certain you want to play games with me, girl?"

Jo circled around the island, set her beer down and rested her arms on the counter. "I'm not playing games. I just wanted a beer or two and thought maybe _Sam_ might like one, too." A glance down at her hands, pursing her lips. "Because, you know, I was having this dream and it was pretty real. I think he probably would have enjoyed a beer at that moment."

She had that right. Sam could see them getting up and drinking a couple beers together in the kitchen before heading back to bed.

"Did it feel real?"

"It did, but you _know_ that already. So what, my sleep isn't even safe from you?"

Sam tasted the beer as Lucifer drank it, greedily sucking in the flavor as though it was an elixir of life. It had been months since he'd tasted anything at all besides the sweat and arousal of Jo's body. "Your sleep was never safe. You only thought it was. Honestly, Jo, do you think I've never been in your dreams before?"

He watched the blood drain from her face, her already pale features becoming more so. His taunt was a lie, but Jo didn't know that. She tapped the bottle on the counter, then whirled and threw it into the sink. The bottle shattered into pieces, the remaining liquid inside splattering the backsplash and counters. Jo didn't stop at the bottle. She threw the pans from the hanging rack next, heavy pans that hit the cabinets with loud thuds. The door on one cabinet cracked, the wood splintering into shards. As for Jo herself, she never made a sound except for her breathing. She kept throwing things until she ended up in the same pose she'd begun in: forearms on the counter, fingers splayed, body half hunched over. Her cheeks were flushed and the kitchen was in shambles.

"Feel better, Jo?"

She flipped her hair over her shoulders and stood straight, licking her lips. "No."

He finished the beer and set the bottle down. "Clean up your mess." At last glance, Jo hadn't moved, still staring after him. Sam felt Lucifer's dissatisfaction with how the evening had gone, but slipped to sleep before he could ascertain why the angel was displeased.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Fields of Paper Flowers  
Chapter: 5  
Summary: Jo has become separated from Ellen in the early days of a bleak future. Believing Ellen in danger, Jo makes a desperate deal with Lucifer-possessed-Sam. Too late, she realizes what his terms really mean: she's his. Always his. His to tease, his to torment, his to break.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect is intended.

* * *

She shinnied down the fire escape at dawn when Meg wasn't paying attention, making sure the door to the master bedroom was locked. Jo had dressed carefully for her escape, in worn jeans, tennis shoes, and a thick sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Luckily, temperatures were still warm enough that she didn't need a jacket. Jumping down into an alley that was filled with refuse and the stink of decomposition, her nose wrinkled from the stench. Graffiti covered the brick of the buildings. Several of the lower windows to the buildings were broken, glass shining on the pavement.

Not quite what the stretch of buildings had been like when he'd first brought her here. Then, there was still normalcy. Now, decay was setting in. Soon, the sickness would invade and rot the place completely.

Jo walked to the mouth of the alley and peered into the street. It was practically deserted, the couple people she saw walking looking about with hyper-vigilance. She watched a lone cab pass by, the driver not even glancing her way. Continuing panic made people stay inside. That and the government issued directive that anyone not needing to be outside should stay indoors. Most businesses were closed out of fear. It was unfortunate Jo couldn't simply disappear into the crowd. She'd have to be careful if she wanted to elude Meg.

She hurried down the block and took off running, taking the first turn that came upon her, sprinting across streets, continuing to move until she felt sick to her stomach. Jo paused to gulp in breath and take in her location. She was in a park and could see the lake if she craned her neck. Strange to see downtown Chicago so empty. Jo hadn't looked long enough to notice that in a very long time. Once there'd been people all over, running in this very park or reading on blankets. Now, there were none. Once there'd been traffic. Now there were wreckages and evidence of looting wherever she looked.

And the virus hadn't even hit the city yet. It was coming though. Los Angeles and New York were in the news constantly, sections being fenced off in an attempt to corral infection. It made sense to her that those two cities would be the first.

Where could she go when she had no other destination in mind than to flee?

Navy Pier. At least she could look at the water and wonder…if she jumped in and let herself drown, would she wake up right back where she'd started?

* * *

Jo was taking an unusual amount of time getting her ass out of bed. Meg poured a healthy amount of whiskey into the cup of coffee Marta had given her and lit up a cigarette in direct violation of Marta's no smoking in the kitchen rule. She tapped the ashes into the sink, admiring Jo's work on the cabinets. She'd heard Jo wrecking the place a few nights earlier, but hadn't gone into the kitchen to see her progress redecorating until now. Three doors were missing and one had a crack reaching nearly from one corner to the next. Several tiles in the backsplash were smashed. All in all, Jo had done a great job in deconstruction.

Meg was thoroughly enjoying this assignment. Sometimes she couldn't believe he'd actually noticed her out of all the demons. Her job was one the most important ones a demon could have. Gulping down the hot drink, she finished the cigarette, and pushed through the kitchen door into the hallway towards the master bedroom.

"Jo!" She pounded on the door. "Let's go already! Get your ass in gear!"

There was silence one the other side. Meg tapped her foot, impatient to be out moving. She had plans for their day out. They were going to break in to a movie theater and watch whatever was there. Meg had a craving for movie popcorn and Twizzlers.

"Come on! If you don't come out in five minutes, I'm picking the movie this time."

When Jo wouldn't answer, Meg picked the lock on the door, expecting to see her reading and deliberately keeping her waiting. Jo wasn't in the bedroom. Meg pursed her lips. Usually, this assignment was easy and gave her the opportunity to be close to Lucifer, but sometimes, Jo Harvelle could be as much of a pain in the ass as Dean Winchester. Like now. She strode into the bathroom and found the window open.

"Bitch," she whispered before turning on her heel and stalking past Marta. There'd be more than hell to pay if she didn't find Jo before Lucifer arrived later that afternoon.

* * *

Drawing out her cell phone, fully charged, Jo found a place with a relatively strong signal. These things were becoming spotty at best in recent days. Even the satellite tv was out more often than it worked. Jo could no longer taunt Meg with Project Runway and America's Next Top Model re-runs unless she took DVDs from a store. Thumbing through the numbers, she chose one and pressed send.

It was picked up after four rings, but all she heard was static. Jo talked anyway, in the hope that some of what she had to say would go through. "Dean, it's Jo. He's got me in Chicago, so if you're anywhere near there…I'll be at Navy Pier waiting. I'll stay as long as I can."

Hanging up, she searched for a place to wait that would give her a somewhat clear line of sight should Dean be able to come for her.

* * *

In an abandoned house in the suburbs of St. Louis, Castiel set Dean's phone aside. Did he tell Dean where Jo Harvelle was? Despite the hissing on the line, he'd heard her quite clearly. Chicago. Navy Pier.

The question nagged at him as he sat and waited for Dean to come back with some food. Part of him said that he should tell him. Dean would want to know. He'd been keeping them as close to Illinois as he could on the off-chance he could find her. An irrational, emotional, utterly human response to the potential danger Jo could be in. The other part of him, however, said no. Jo would slow them down. They'd no understanding of her circumstances. What, exactly had she been sorry for in that brief conversation Dean had had with her?

Lucifer had her. They both knew it. What they didn't know was what he'd wanted with Jo Harvelle.

If he still had his powers, he'd go in, ascertain those circumstances, grab her if feasible, and bring her out. He'd even make her invisible from angels and demons like he had Dean and Sam many months earlier, if that was what Dean really wanted for her. He'd do that for Dean. He'd do just about anything for Dean Winchester. But he didn't have his powers and no angel answered his pleas for information. Castiel had thought that Anna at least might come to tell him what was happening, yet even she was silent.

Dean entered the room. "I still don't like taking Bobby back there, Cas." He set a bag down and started to unpack it. A few canned goods, boxed goods and the like made a little pile on the floor. "What's he going to do if they storm his house? Tell them hold on while he wheels to the basement door, throws himself down the stairs, and crawls to the safe room?"

"It was his decision to make, not yours. He wanted to be home, so we took him home."

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't make it any easier. " A sigh escaped him. "Phone charged yet? Any calls while I was gone?"

Now was the time to mention the call. Should he? Or should he remain silent? If Dean checked his missed calls listing he'd find her number right there. Staring at Dean's weary features, Castiel made his own decision regarding Jo Harvelle. It wasn't as difficult to flip that coin as he'd thought it would be.

* * *

Perhaps Jo should have thought about the sort of people who'd be out in the city besides herself. The reckless. The despondent. The delusional. The weirdos. The hunters. She'd waited for nearly four and a half hours, alternately pacing the area she'd chosen to wait in and sitting still, imagining that conversation she was going to have with Dean about what she'd done. In her mind, none of the scenarios went well: Dean annoyed at having to run and rescue her yet again; Dean angry she'd sold herself; Dean annoyed and angry with her at the same time.

While she wanted to imagine a happy reunion with him in the most desperate of ways, she knew any reunion between them would hardly be happy. Not with the world as it was and her deal hanging over her head.

Jo closed her eyes and leaned her head back, not hearing the man coming up behind her until it was too late. Rough hands grabbed her, dragging her backwards, tipping her chair to the ground. Pain exploded along Jo's jaw seconds before he punched her in the stomach. Trying to breathe, she watched him set the chair upright, and then he was lifting her, putting her back in the chair and tying her to it. Her legs, her torso, her right wrist were all tied while she forced her aching midsection to expand with breath. Jo spat blood onto his shoes. "What do you want," she gasped.

The man before her was lean and dark haired, with an unkempt beard and the fervent eyes of a fanatic.

Her free wrist felt like it needed to pop. Raising that hand, she touched the spot on her jaw where he'd hit her. It was already tender.

"I know you. I know who you are…_Jo Harvelle_. Been watching you for awhile now, girl. I've seen you rubbing shoulders with demons, getting it on with that _thing_ in Sam Winchester's body…and rubbing more than shoulders with him. The things I've seen you do with him…. You sure like riding him from what I saw." His leering glance drifted down her, as though he could see through her thick sweatshirt and jeans.

Nice, Jo thought. A pervert. Don't I have all the luck?

"I _thought_ I saw a pervert with binoculars in the building across the street. Guess I was right. Did you jerk off as you watched, or tape it and save it for later?"

He backhanded her so hard that her vision swam for long seconds. "Your mama'd be ashamed of you for what you done. Traitorous whore. Ellen Harvelle may have been a hardass bitch, but she was classy under it all. You though? How many of us have you sold out to him? Hmm? You been whispering names to him as he slips it to you?" Vaguely, Jo remembered his name was possibly Tyler and that her mom had once physically thrown him from the Roadhouse. He jerked her left arm out, shoving up the sleeve of her sweatshirt, and twisted her arm. Touching his knife to the sigil, he slid it across the mark in a shallow, stinging cut, drawing a thin line of blood. "What did he promise you?"

"None of your damn business."

"Must have been something good." When she didn't reply, he grinned. "I'll just have to torture it out of you."

Jo laughed, genuine mirth of the sort she usually only had at Jim Carrey comedies. The look on his face only spurred her on. She hadn't had such a decent laugh in months. It hurt her abdomen to laugh that hard, but it felt good. After Lucifer himself working her over for months now, this guy thought _he_ was hot shit in that department? "Torture? Really? You dumb-ass, inbred son-of-a bitch. What kind of drugs are you on? There is absolutely nothing you can do to me that he hasn't already done."

"Yeah? We'll see about that." Now he tied her left wrist as well.

"Sure. Do it already. Do your worst. Torture me, kill me." Jo twisted her wrists about in their bonds. He'd tied the rope tight. "Carve up my skin, open me up, pull out some internal organs. Blind me with a cigarette. Cut out my tongue. Break my bones one by one. Do it. You think there's something he's missed? Go for it." She leaned forward as far as she could, wiggling her shoulders in challenge, voice taunting. "Bullet in the brain, through the heart. It doesn't matter. Keep shooting until my heart stops beating, but whatever you're going to do…be quick about it. He always knows where I am."

"You want me to, Jo?"

She leaned back as though unconcerned. "It's up to you. He won't be too happy with you though, so be ready for that. You break his toy, you pay the price."

"You say he always knows where you are?" He snorted. "Course he does. You've been here for four hours by yourself. Where's your demon bodyguard?"

With great skill in the art of melodrama, Meg chose that moment to step from the shadows. She crossed towards them. "Wow. Such a fun game of hide and seek and now a hunter to kill? Bonus!" The smile she favored upon them would not have been out of place at a charity bake sale. "You're so sweet, Jo. You didn't have to get me a present. It's not my birthday. And here I thought you didn't like me."

Jo rolled her eyes. "How did you find me?"

"He has his spies, I have mine. I've known where you were for about three hours now, but…you obviously wanted some alone time, so I obliged. " Her attention fixed on the hunter. "I am so out of practice at this, I hope you don't mind if I toy with you for awhile before killing you? It's been a long few weeks for me. I should ease back into it. Wouldn't want to strain myself." Her smile became anticipatory and cruel, eyes going black.

The hunter ran. Jo guessed he wasn't prepared to actually deal with the demons he'd seen her with. She waited while Meg took off after him, listening to the sounds of the chase and, ultimately, the drawn out sounds of his slow, lingering death. When Meg returned, she had blood on her clothes and a satisfied grin on her face, cutting Jo's bonds with quick jerks.

"We should be getting back," Meg remarked. "He's coming to see you this afternoon and I know you want to be well rested."

Standing, she looked to her right. There was a trail of blood leading off into the shadows of the darkened building. From somewhere inside, she heard movement. Someone was coming from somewhere in the stretch of buildings. More hunters? Human crazies looking for someone to play with? Or had the infected found the city at last?

Turning, she followed Meg back towards the apartment building. At five hours and ten minutes after she'd left the apartment, Jo walked back in to her prison. Five minutes later, she realized she'd lost her phone.

* * *

They found a man's mangled body, trails of blood leading to one of the doors to the outside, and two sets of footprints. By a lone chair was a bit of cut rope. They didn't, however, find Jo.

"Damn it!" Dean lowered his gun, seized by the urge to scream out his frustration. "You're sure she said Navy Pier?"

"Positive. She said she'd wait as long as she could."

Taking out his phone, he dialed her number, listening for the ring. If she was near, wouldn't they hear it? There. Nearby. It had to be hers. "Follow that," he told Cas. Together, they searched, ever alert to attack.

Jo's phone was on the ground outside. Crouching, Dean picked it up. "Where the hell are you, Jo," he whispered, glancing at Cas. "This place is giving me the creeps. It's too empty, too quiet."

Dean stood, slipping the phone in his pocket just like he had with Ellen's months earlier, and contemplated their surroundings with suspicion. Chicago was far more devastated by rioting, looting, and vandalism than he'd thought it would be. Other cities weren't this bad. Kansas City, St. Louis, Indianapolis. None of them were like this. Weird. It was like the entire downtown area was devoid of human life. Where were the people in denial, trying to go about their days? He looked at the buildings in the distance and wondered which one of them Jo was being kept in. It would be somewhere near, wouldn't it? Had to be. There was only so far a body could run before needing to rest and he knew very well how terror could zap a person's energy. So, how far could Jo have run before deciding to wait at Navy Pier?

If he walked along the Miracle Mile screaming her name over and over…would she hear him? Was she even now on the move, trying to get herself to safety? Or was she caught once more, returned to captivity and Lucifer?

All the way here he'd imagined finding her waiting. He'd imagined enfolding her in a hug, kissing her like he'd never gotten around to doing before. He'd hold her tight and not let go.

"Should we continue searching?" Castiel's voice was soft, uncertain.

"No." Dean shook his head. "She's not here."

The sounds of birds echoed in the deserted area.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"So am I, Cas." He was going to have to say goodbye to Jo and move on. They'd tried every avenue they could think of to find her, reaching this same end every time. He hated letting go of his quest to find her. It tore at him to do it, very real pains in his chest. "Let's go."

With a final look about them, Dean headed for the car.

* * *

The dress Jo found waiting was a pale pink sundress that had a vague Forties feel to the design. A sundress? He must be taking her somewhere hot. She showered before putting it on. After her run through the streets, she felt grimy. What, she wondered, did he have planned for today that required a sundress? A jaunt to some sunny isle to watch it drown in the sea? Or a trip to watch a volcano erupt and hot lava coat several villages of terrified people? She checked her makeup. There was barely a hint of swelling on her jaw from where the hunter had hit her, but creative use of concealer, foundation, and powder disguised the tender spot.

When they'd reached the apartment, Meg had tended to her jaw and the cut on her arm, doing so in the master bathroom with both the bedroom door and bathroom door shut and locked to keep Marta out. Meg said it wasn't Marta's business and for a few seconds, Jo had felt something of a camaraderie with her.

Slipping on a pair of sandals, she went out to the living room. Lucifer was already there.

"Marta says you went out today." His brows raised, waiting for Meg's report.

There was silence for a few seconds and Jo expected Meg to tell him she'd run off and nearly gotten filleted by a hunter. Instead, Meg shrugged. "It was just a girl's day out. Target practice, shopping, the usual." She wasn't lying exactly. She'd certainly had target practice killing that hunter.

"Really." One brow quirked upwards. "Marta told me Jo locked the bedroom door against you and went down the fire escape."

Meg shook her head, as though she couldn't understand why Marta would tell him that. "No, no, that's not what happened. I sent Jo on down to get the car while I went back for the apartment keys. The bedroom door had gotten locked by accident. I picked it open, retrieved the keys, and joined Jo at the car. We had an uneventful day."

His eyes narrowed. "There was nothing I should be aware of?"

In that second, Jo realized he wasn't as all knowing as he had tried to make her think. He really did need Marta and Meg for information.

He didn't know Jo had tried to leave.

She touched the mark on her wrist, let her thumb ring around it. How much did he really know and how much was a combination of lies and illusion?

"Not a thing. It was quiet."

"Marta implied otherwise."

"Marta was lying." Meg looked at Jo. "Isn't that right, Jo?"

If Jo ever wanted to get rid of Meg, now was the time, so why did she find herself nodding, agreeing to the story Meg had put forth? I'm keeping secrets with a demon, she thought. Fabulous. If I wasn't already going to hell, I would be so going to hell right now. "Absolutely."

"Mmm." Turning on his heel, he strode through the dining room and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Why doesn't he know," she hissed at Meg.

She shook her head. "Because he wasn't focused on either of us until he arrived here. If he'd been focused on us, he would have known."

"He wasn't watching," she said to herself in a whisper.

"We got lucky, sweetie. Next time we won't." She crossed her arms. "I suggest you give up on your ideas of running away. Next time…. Next time, I won't wait before retrieving you and I'll give you some hurts despite what you are to him. A few bruises won't get me kicked off this detail."

Jo nodded.

* * *

He thought of where he was now and how he'd gotten there.

Those dream talks he and Lucifer had engaged in. The angel had taken the form of every person he trusted as months had passed, trying to get Sam's permission, manipulating his emotions. The more Sam tried to dig in and refuse, Lucifer redoubled his efforts and the wider the aching emotional hole in Sam became.

Dean wasn't there to help.

Who did Sam have to talk to, to tell him he could resist when he already knew he craved the power being offered? Alluring, enticing. Anything and everything he'd ever wanted. Seductive promises.

Demonic events increased, the earth shaking from natural disasters. And Sam? During that time, Sam began to wish once more that he had that power to pull demons from their host, the power to change things. He started to consider Lucifer's offer.

Dean wouldn't return his calls.

Lucifer though…. He was always willing to talk.

Sam's decline into willingness hadn't actually taken that long in the scheme of things, certainly no more than a tick in Lucifer's timetable. As the angel had reminded him many times, time was on Lucifer's side, not Sam's.

With flawless timing, Lucifer had physically walked into Sam's motel room just as he reached his breaking point. He was at his lowest emotionally, having just left his final message for Dean, sunk in a funk of depression so deep that all he'd been able to do was look up and stare at the angel.

"Oh, Sam. Look at yourself. What are you doing here like this?" He'd crouched, shaking his head. "You should be a king on this earth, not cowering in some rundown roach infested dive. You were born for so much more than this! Let me in. Let me give you the world. Most people would have jumped at my offer, but not you. I admire your strength, but isn't it awfully tiring being strong every minute of every day?"

Strength? He wasn't strong. He was so far from strong it seemed like an alien concept.

Sensing Sam's weakness and that the ever widening crack inside him was finally giving way, Lucifer had pounced.

"What are you fighting for really? This world? The people? The same ones who would call you a freak for your gifts?" He shook his head. "Your call is nobler than that, than them. You were born for privilege and power and you know that. You've always known you were different. It's not a bad thing." He held out his hand. "Take my hand and you'll finally have your inheritance. The world on a plate. Power to change those things that really need it. You can shape this world, Sam. All you have to do is say yes."

With a choking cry, Sam broke, reaching for Lucifer's hand. For months he'd had a hole inside him that Dean's refusal to talk to him had made. Each time Dean hadn't returned his calls had felt like physical blows reigning down upon him, slowly beating him to his knees. He'd felt helpless and alone.

"Is that a yes, then?"

"It is," he's said in a voice gruff from speaking very little in days.

Lucifer smiled a gentle smile. "I knew you'd see things my way. I did tell you that you would. Thank you, Sam. I mean that."

Being taken over had felt like being filled up with rage, hate, and heat. He supposed he'd screamed as it happened, though honestly all he remembered was that sensation of his body stretching and of the essence of himself -- his soul -- shrinking until he was a prisoner in his own body, unable to act or do anything save observe. He'd wondered if the angel had burned away the tether between his body and soul, leaving him bouncing about inside himself. It sure felt that way.

And then? Sleep.

Until Jo.

* * *

Meg was good. Lucifer watched her with Jo and reflected that she had been the right choice for Jo. Meg had all of the qualities needed, especially the most important one, in spades: she was nearly as schooled in manipulation as Ruby had been. Whereas Ruby had manipulated Sam, Meg worked on Jo. He observed her skillfully form those love-hate friendship bonds with Jo, taking the chance of Jo's spontaneous escape attempt to keep it a 'secret' from him. Something they shared that strengthened their bond.

He let her do that, since it worked to his advantage and she was doing what he'd ordered of her.

Oh, he'd known Jo was going to try to escape. It was inevitable she would at some point. The only question was when she would choose to try it. She knew it was futile, that the mark made her a neon sign flashing out to him wherever she was, but at the same time, she needed to think he wasn't always aware of her. She needed to feel she could keep anything from him if she chose the right time.

Soon, she would depend on Meg more and when the culmination of his plans for Jo arrived, Meg would be the integral part of pulling it all together. She was just as important as Jo in her own way. Both were…ideal.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Fields of Paper Flowers  
Chapter: 6  
Summary: Jo has become separated from Ellen in the early days of a bleak future. Believing Ellen in danger, Jo makes a desperate deal with Lucifer-possessed-Sam. Too late, she realizes what his terms really mean: she's his. Always his. His to tease, his to torment, his to break.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect is intended.  
Notes: The Scripture reference is Luke 1:26-27, 30-31, English Standard Version.

* * *

The gardens he took her to were extensive and beautiful in a wild sort of way. It was obvious that most of the tending to it had been abandoned. Weeds mingled with the flowers, climbing vines strangled the weaker plants. He led her about the garden, deeper and deeper into it until they were somewhere in the center, surrounded by hedges, flowers, and trees. Bursts of bright colors mingled with the greens of foliage.

Jo had no idea where they were, though she thought she could smell the tang of sea air mingling with fragrant blossoms. In one clearing along the path, a picnic was set out on a large colorful blanket. She had to admit that a picnic with him was actually pleasant. No bugs interrupted her repast and the cold and hot food remained that way. He laid on his back, hands behind his head, watching the sky and trees above their heads, staying silent while she ate. This time he didn't eat, though he did invite her to take her fill of the foods provided. Jo ate more than she had in a very long time. Maybe it was the sea air she thought she smelled that stimulated her appetite.

He seemed in a mellow mood, contemplative even. At times like these, she sort of liked him a little. It was in these moments he was the most like Sam had been. Sometimes Jo wondered if, like demons sometimes did, he really did let Sam rise to the surface to see. He'd told her he did. Who knew if it was truth? If Sam could see her, what was he thinking? Did he regret his decision to accept Lucifer?

When she was full and couldn't take another bite of the decadent cheesecake that had been for dessert, he got to his feet and held a hand out to help her up. He began to walk further along the path, obviously expecting her to follow him. Jo decided to ask him one question that she'd had on her mind.

"What exactly do they think I'm here for? Those people you took me to awhile back. And Marta."

She had a pretty good idea by now. The close watch Marta kept on her diet, the insistence on proper rest and exercise, the zealous monitoring of her menstrual cycle. Marta's constant nagging about the drinking Jo indulged in with Meg. It all added up to one thing, but she wanted to hear him say it; needed to hear the words from him.

Eyeing her for a long moment, he stopped and bent, cupping one flower and sniffing it, then standing tall again. Jo braced herself for whatever he was going to tell her. She didn't know why she asked him anything, since he never actually gave her a straight answer and when he did, it conflicted with what he'd already told her. She wasn't sure she knew what truth was anymore. Maybe she asked because Lucifer liked to hear himself talk? After all, a good companion knew when to listen, right? She did an awful lot of listening. He sure liked the sound of his words through Sam's voice.

"In the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David." His glance lifted to the sky. Jo resisted the urge to see if he was looking at something up there, keeping her attention on him. "And the angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son…."

"You've got to be kidding me," she told him. It was exactly what she'd been expecting. She should have figured it out way back when he'd taken her to that party and all those nuts had been talking about babies.

"Am I? They're looking for symmetry, of course, through perversion of The Bible. Son for a son."

"I'm not Mary and I wasn't a virgin."

"You're my Mary in their eyes." He twirled a finger at her in an almost playful gesture. "The ones I've taken you to, that is. The truth of the Antichrist…now that's quite a different matter." He walked a few more steps along the path, touching this plant or that one with a gentle touch bordering on absurd. "You weren't a virgin and you weren't betrothed, though your emotions for Dean were quite strong. You were chosen." Amusement played about his features. "You're all gullible, believing anything, with hopes easily crushed. You need something to believe in. I see no reason why that something can't be whatever I want. Or whomever."

"Why even play along?"

"Why not? It amuses me while humanity careens to it's end. All I need to do is direct here and there, then sit back and watch. You're all so eager to take lives. Like Sarah's." His small smile chilled her. "Sarah had to go, Jo. You once wanted to know why she wouldn't work. Because," he flicked his glance down her and back up, "she couldn't bear children. I knew it the second I touched her. One day she might have spent thousands to discover that truth. She thought I was Sam, too. She thought he'd found her to have a future together. Oh, she was looking forward to it. You should have seen the joy in her eyes when she saw him…us…me. She came willingly, without one contract between us. She had such a warm smile. I could see why Sam liked her."

Jo wished she had a sweater or jacket with her. Goosebumps covered her bare arms. Hadn't he told her that his followers had taken Sarah? He had. He'd said they became impatient and took her, implying he'd never seen her.

"Jo, she was too easy to break. I had her terrified in hours, panicking…. From his memories of her I'd expected someone tougher to crack than that. Her spirit simply…opened to me. It was barely a challenge at all. Hardly worth the effort."

"So sorry she disappointed you in that matter." Her sarcasm was noted by narrowed eyes, Jo expecting some punishment, but he apparently decided to be lenient, merely continuing his narrative of events.

"I let her try to kill me before I erased all traces of my presence. Then, I whispered in Alicia's ear that if she killed Sarah, she could also get rid of Marta. After that, I watched to see what choices they'd all make. Sarah had been doing homework since she'd seen Sam, loading up her human brain with knowledge that would have been more dangerous if she'd spent a little while longer with Sam. She'd learned about the salt, but she didn't know how to make her own holy water. The fight between her and Alicia was messy, blood everywhere. Marta had to replace the carpet and when she found Alicia's handiwork? She made her own choices and came out on top."

"You're a monster."

"You say potato," he replied with a shrug. "I wasn't disappointed, just like I wasn't disappointed in you and your choices. Everything I see reinforces what unworthy creatures you really are. You're violent out-of-control animals who shouldn't have dominion on this planet in the first place."

Jo hugged herself as the sunlight disappeared behind the darkening clouds and the temperature began to drop. Wind whipped the treetops. "What did it matter if she could have children or not? Or if I can have them? She didn't have to die."

His lips tightened into a thin line. "Sarah did have to die, Jo. She was deficient and I explained her deficiency to them."

"What, after she was _dead_? The ability to have children doesn't matter. It's only a fiction you've got those people believing. You _wanted_ to kill Sarah, so you made it happen. They never would have known she couldn't have kids if you hadn't told them. There was never a reason for them to know at all." A sudden thought occurred to her. "Why did you want her dead? What was it about her that could have threatened you?"

His tongue slipped out, wetting his lips. "Nothing any of you creatures do threatens me." In a blink he was to her, looming over her, gaze colder than normal.

Rage, she thought. This is his rage. I've hit a nerve, but with what? What part of that angered him? She waited for his retaliation in a state of strange calm. What would it be this time? How would he make her bleed? Jo couldn't stop her next words from leaving her mouth. "Were Sam's feelings for her stronger than you first thought? Would her presence have given him strength in there, enough strength to displace you? Was that why you had her killed?"

"Let me clear something up for you. There _is_ no way I can be displaced, Jo. Sam can try all he wants, but this isn't a split personality or some other psychological diagnosis you humans cling to for order in your pathetic lives. It's not simple or easy. He can't ever regain control. Do you understand? _I'm_ in control. I can't be stopped by any of you. Don't you know that by now?"

This time, she remained silent and after a moment, he returned to the conversation as though she hadn't angered him. Jo breathed a quiet sigh and wondered if she was right about Sarah. However…his anger might not have been about Sarah at all. For all she knew, his temper could have been at her refusal to just accept his statement that Sarah had to die. He didn't like it when she didn't believe him.

"For their fiction, the ability matters. They believe that Sarah killed Alicia and Marta had a vision of Sarah's barren state. I told them Marta was correct and it all worked out, because I have you." He sighed. "You're correct about yourself. You can have children." Reaching out, he tucked her hair behind her ear. "But you won't. These things take time and I believe their time will run out waiting for that _blessed_ event."

"If I do get pregnant?"

"Meg will take you for an abortion. While good medical care may be fast becoming obsolete, those are still readily available."

Her stomach felt loose and wobbly inside. Jo tasted bile in the back of her throat. Good to know that he wasn't planning on cutting her open and ripping the child from her if she conceived. She could imagine him doing that easily enough. "You can't just make it go away?"

"Of course I could." He nodded, then shook his head. "I won't. You could have chosen some form of birth control and you didn't. There _are_ consequences to all actions, after all. You know that."

Jo staggered back as though he'd struck her. The pleasure on his features made her rising nausea worse.

"Really, Jo. I'm not unreasonable. I would've worn a condom if you'd but asked."

Her head spun like she'd stayed too long on a merry-go-round. "Messing with my head," she gasped, though she didn't think he was this time.

He shrugged, "Perhaps," and began once more down the path, moving away from her.

In that moment, a reckless part of Jo woke.

* * *

They weren't friends. One didn't become friends with a demon, but somehow, Meg's constant presence began to fill a need in Jo. It was like hanging out with the school bitch in high school. You always knew where you stood, yet sometimes it seemed you really understood each other and _had_ an understanding. Circumstances threw you together. You'd hang out even though you hated each other's guts. This was the sort of relationship Jo developed with Meg, an almost parasitic push and pull of wills.

"You said you'd once waited what felt like forever for him. Did you ever give up?"

Meg took a long swig from the whiskey bottle they were passing back and forth between them. "I had a moment of doubt, where I gave up the overall plan and went about my own ways, but then…." She handed Jo the bottle. "Then, the sacred event occurred and he was free. I fell to my knees and reaffirmed my commitment. Can you imagine my surprise when he found me and chose me to guard you? Why me, I wondered, and when he told me the reason, I was honored. The importance of it can't be measured." She shook a cigarette from the pack in her pocket, offering one to Jo.

"Why were you honored and why is guarding me important?" Jo took a sip of the liquor. She refused the cigarette. It was a nasty habit.

"Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to tell you, though I can say it's a bitchin' plan. You'd appreciate how he's working it all together if you knew. One by one the pieces connect. The complexity of it…. If one piece doesn't fit when it's needed it all falls apart, but so far all the pieces have settled where they're needed. It's beautiful. Abso-fucking-lutely beautiful."

"I'll take your word for it."

"You should be honored to be a part of his plan, Jo. I mean that. Do you understand how many humans have tried to gain his attention over the centuries?"

"Thousands?"

"More than that. You didn't even have to try hard to do it. All you had to do was be…" She trailed off and shook her head. "That would be telling and I can't. What I can say is that the victory he'll gain is eagerly sought."

Over and over, Jo was frustrated in her attempts to discover why Lucifer had wanted her; why only she would work in his plan. She thought through all the things he and Meg had told her and decided there was one constant truth in their words. She'd been chosen because of who she was and what she was, but that phrase 'what she was' could mean many things. Jo didn't really know how he meant it, continuing to spend long moments musing upon it to no conclusions.

The thing about Meg, was that when she wasn't being a taunting demon bitch, she could be somewhat fun. Always willing to play games -- must be some demon requirement -- and matched Jo drink for drink. Granted she was a poor loser, but Jo had ceased to mind that quite so much. She'd drive when Jo was too drunk, though she didn't use a seatbelt and ignored all those silly rules of the road. Not that there was much need for the rules anymore. They weren't even supposed to be outside at all. No one was.

There were always people willing to party though. No matter how bad it got, Meg could locate at least one illegal club in operation on a daily basis, people gathered in direct violation of recent United States law, drinking and dancing as the world ended around them.

She wore a wide beaded bracelet to hide Lucifer's mark most days, or a white gold one. Meg said she should wear the sigil with pride, maintaining that she was stupid to try and hide it like she was ashamed of the mark of glory.

Jo _was_ ashamed. She was ashamed of her weakness that day long ago. What she should have done was walk away, refuse to consider his offer and deal with the consequences, however terrible they'd seemed at the time. She should have sucked it up and let her mom and Dean go. She'd had to do that anyway, but at least if she hadn't made her deal, she'd be free of Lucifer. Eternity taunted her. It was a long, dark space filled with cold and misery that would never, ever end.

When they sought out parties, she'd learned to leave the bracelets in the apartment. Lucifer's sigil got her free entrance to the events. She was able to walk straight to the door and go in like a celebrity or royalty even. She and anyone with her -- usually a detail of demon guards ranging in number from two to ten, all hand-picked by Lucifer specifically for those occasions. Meg would inform him they planned to go out and the guards would leave wherever his entourage was right then to meet Jo and Meg outside their building.

Once, Lucifer had even joined them for a few hours. He and Jo had sat at their table side by side, Jo with a drink and Lucifer greeting men and women like a king holding court. Meg had deserted her to dance, leaving Jo with only Lucifer for company. Jo had watched as pretty young women came over to ask him to dance, their glances lowered, body language flirtatious. Indeed, the entire evening had been very much like a scene from a period drama, Henry the VIII's time maybe. Court intrigue, currying favor, and all of that sort of thing she remembered from having read The Other Boleyn Girl one bored weekend a few months earlier.

The women had been disappointed in their efforts, Lucifer turning them down with a charming smile and an arm about Jo's shoulders. He always pretended to be loving in public, as though he was trying to change some people's minds about him.

Inside the parties, Jo got free drinks, food if she wanted, the best seat, and a following of hangers-on who thought they knew what the mark meant. They'd come to wherever she and Meg sat, flash their own cruder marks, and ask her to bless them with his favor. No amount of saying that she had no influence put them off and Jo finally began telling each one that she'd consider the request 'in due time'.

It was the people, the humans, who approached her. The demons knew the score, treating her with contempt even as they kept her from being harmed by those people.

How messed up was that?

When Jo realized she couldn't save herself, she imagined Dean saving her, like she'd hoped he'd do at Navy Pier a couple months earlier. He'd whisk her from harm. The desperation for that end to her circumstances was so deep that it could not be measured. She could see it in her mind. He'd drive up in the Impala, grab some weapons from the trunk and find her. Meg and Marta would be toast. He'd take one look at the sigil Lucifer had burned onto her like a cattle brand and know just what to do. He'd liberate her, like a knight or prince in a fairy tale. Her hero.

Hurry, she pleaded silently.

If he didn't find her soon, Jo wasn't sure how much of her would be left. She was sinking in steady degrees. The longer Lucifer worked on her, the less remained of herself. She was being shaped by the things he'd planned and done and there was no way to stop this downward slide she was on. At least, no way Jo could stop it by herself. She needed help.

Jo had to believe Dean was still looking for her. That thought helped her to hang on and continue enduring those things Lucifer did to her.

She decided to go out for New Year's Eve, end 2011 with a bang, asking Meg to locate a party of some kind. They dressed in slinky cocktail dresses too short and thin for the cold and shoes too high to be classy.

"We look like high class hookers," Meg commented before they walked out the door with their cadre of demon guards.

Jo ended up drinking too much too fast. Vodka, tequila, mixed drinks…anything set before her. With any luck, she'd pass out in a stupor and stay that way all night. Or maybe she'd poison herself with it and die before the new year began. Vision hazy, she ignored the people who came to pay her court, responding only when Meg prodded her. She just wasn't in the mood for this shit tonight. Maybe leaving the apartment had been a mistake. They should go home.

"This was your idea, Jo-Jo. Can you at least pretend to be enjoying yourself? Smile at them. Ask yourself how a queen behaves and be exactly what they think you are. The royal consort must greet her subjects." Meg quirked a brow at her.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Meg to go screw herself. "They have no idea what's really going on."

"Nope. Nor would they believe you if you tried to tell them. Why don't you go dance? This is the kind of sucky music you like."

"Right. Like I enjoy having one of these fawning drunken yahoos rubbing his half erect penis against my ass, crooning about how lucky the big guy, Lucifer, is." Besides, she was sobering up too much. Jo contemplated ordering another drink, swirling the dregs of her last one in her glass. "No, thank you."

"My, aren't we touchy tonight?"

"I want to sit here and get wasted and have you carry me home so I can puke on his shoes when he pops in demanding to be serviced at three a.m.. Is that too much to ask?"

"You're the one who asked for this life, Jo. You agreed to all of it and now you're crying about it? Grow up, baby. You took your free will and made all the choices to get you right where you're at. Revel in it." She craned her neck. "Oh look, here come more of them. They are all just _flocking_ in to see you tonight! I swear, this place is practically at capacity. Fire hazard!"

Looking up, Jo found another group of people making their way across the crowded room to her. Meg was right in that a lot of people were coming to see her. They kept coming every few minutes, group after group. Jo hadn't seen this many people in one place in a long time. Some she even recognized from that humiliating party Lucifer had made her go to months earlier. She shifted in her chair. One of the men seemed familiar. He'd been at that party, hadn't he? One of those faithful followers so certain of what he believed, leering at her while her nudity had been on display. Upon seeing her, he pushed forward, fists raising.

"You promised to give us his blessing," he yelled, voice audible over the pulsing beat of the music. "My family has the virus. My entire family. My wife tried to kill me!"

She remained silent, staring at him. Jo had never promised anything, being careful to never say that word.

Meg stood, stepping down the three steps to be at the same level. She blocked his way up them. "Are you daring to raise your voice to her? You who have the significance of a worm?"

Demons stepped forward, making a line between the man and his group and Jo, protecting her from the human element, with Meg at the fore. Jo drank those dregs at the bottom of her glass. Every last bit of her buzz faded away, leaving her depressingly sober.

"Bitch," the man spat.

"Oh, I do hope you're referring to me. It's my time of the month and I'm just itching to kill someone. Give me a reason to gut you." Meg took a step closer to him. "Please?"

His eyes were bugging out, veins throbbing in his forehead as he jabbed his fingers at Jo. "Her. I refer to her. That bitch slut. I made sacrifices to him. You can't just ignore me."

"She can if you've no real faith."

Jo thought he was going to have a fit. Was that foam at his mouth? She squinted, leaning forward in her seat.

There was no chance to find out, a panicked cry ringing the room as the music stopped mid-song. "Infected!"

For the space of seconds, there were no sounds at all, but then Jo began to hear those noises of a frantic crowd. Cries of fear, of chairs and table being upended, and the slap of flesh connecting with flesh. She watched the panic begin.

A new song began to play, old-fashioned, sad in tune, and one Jo didn't think was actually on any of the discs in the booth. It was 'I'll Be Seeing You', that old song often used in movies about World War II. Her line of guards parted, revealing Lucifer coming across the room towards her. All around him people stampeded, screaming in terror as the infected attacked. The flashing colored lights gave the scene before her a surreal cast. He stopped, holding a hand out to her in invitation.

He wants me to dance with him, Jo realized as Meg tugged her to her feet, led her down the steps, and gave her a nudge in his direction much like a proud mother handing her daughter off to her prom date. Jo stepped to him, placing her hand in his and being drawn against him. Out of all the activities they'd engaged in these past months, dancing had not been one of them until now. The incongruousness of doing so in the middle of a slaughter made her giggle, yet for the most part, she managed to keep herself together.

They slow-danced in the elegant fashion befitting a couple in the Forties or Fifties, not the present. Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched the people die. Lucifer only watched her, a tiny satisfied smirk upon his lips.

"Isn't this beautiful, Jo? The perfect way to ring in the new year." He dipped her backwards and returned her upright.

The screams of the dying and the eerie growls of the infected almost drowned out the final strains of the song. When it ended, there was a moment of silence before the demon guards and Meg began to count down.

"Five, four, three, two, one…. Happy New Year!"

He kissed her, a seconds long brush of his mouth to hers.

The only sounds were those of the demons laughing.

Lucifer stepped back, offering her his arm. She took it. All around them, bodies and parts of bodies littered the floor. Jo smelled blood and gunpowder heavy in the air. Twice she nearly slipped on the puddles of blood, kept upright only because of his arm. The disease had reached the city.

Welcome to 2012, she thought as they stepped out into the chill night, their shoes leaving bloody prints on the pavement. Year of the infected.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Fields of Paper Flowers  
Chapter: 7  
Summary: Jo has become separated from Ellen in the early days of a bleak future. Believing Ellen in danger, Jo makes a desperate deal with Lucifer-possessed-Sam. Too late, she realizes what his terms really mean: she's his. Always his. His to tease, his to torment, his to break.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect is intended.  
Notes: Thank you so much for the reviews!

* * *

He didn't stop at invading her dreams just that once. No, he did it continually over the first weeks of the new year, sometimes observing and sometimes reshaping those nocturnal images to suit that story he'd taken from Sam and embellished for her. She'd accused him of creating fiction for his human followers, so he continued to create fiction for her, elaborating on the story, changing details in slow degrees until her waking and dreaming landscapes were the same. The only difference was Sam.

How long before her two worlds converged and Jo began to lose herself between them?

Lying beside her, he stroked his fingers along her forehead, temples, and cheeks, forcing himself into her current dream. For long moments, he surveyed her dream setting, then twisted, turned, and flipped it until it became his construct and not hers.

To be fair to Jo, she did have a strong will. She had to to have lasted as long as she had without breaking. It wasn't effortless to manipulate her dreams, for she fought it every step of the way, her mind aware of his invasion and countering it even as her sleeping self was unaware. However, neither was it difficult, only a few seconds to fully take over her dreams when with a lesser-willed person it would be instantaneous.

Sam had had a strong will in that area as well. That was one reason it had taken as long as it had to break him down into acceptance.

It amused him how hard Jo's mind fought before letting his changes flow.

Jo shifted position, head rolling on the pillow as though protesting.

He took her back to Philadelphia, to that scene of Dean's betrayal -- the one he'd written just for her.

* * *

_Sam._

He came awake to another dream scene, not one in that fantasy he'd had. This scene was one in Lucifer's story for them, convincing mostly because Dean really could be that much of an ass. He could get on that high horse and parade around. The two were toe to toe screaming at each other, Jo in disbelief and growing anger and Dean in righteous belief he was doing the right thing. Her head was tipped back, long hair trailing down her back. Sam recalled Dean's initial disbelief that Jo could live the hunting life.

"You're getting on a plane and going back home, Jo."

"You can't make me."

"Oh, you want to bet on that?" Dean leaned down to really get in her face.

Jo moved closer so that they were nearly nose to nose. "You try to put me on a plane and I'll cry kidnapping and rape."

"You really going to play that way, Jo? Go for it. I'm game. Let's play."

Sam watched himself interrupt the argument, taking Jo's side of it, trying to get Dean to back down, to acknowledge her views.

"I won't forgive you for this," she spat at Dean, shaking her head, body stiff with ire as she backed away.

"You'll get over it." Dean turned to him. "It's for her own good, Sam. You know that. You know just how much it's for her good."

The bitch of it was that Lucifer was right. If Philadelphia had played out as he put forth, Jo's choices might not have taken her to this point. Maybe Sam's wouldn't have taken him here either. It all boiled down to those choices they made along the way, didn't it?

Over a series of nights, Lucifer unfolded that part of their dream history to the both of them. He showed them a love story, a love that slowly grew and seemed to soothe some part of Jo. Sam watched them travel slowly across the U.S. towards Nebraska, getting to know each other deeper than they had. Lucifer used details he'd discovered about Jo during the months she'd been his, the dream Sam asking the right questions to make Jo open up.

He showed Ellen's relief at Jo home safe and Jo's anger at Ellen's continued interference in her life. The fights Lucifer created between the two rivaled the real one Sam and Dean had witnessed. After Jo had stormed off, Ellen turned to him, frown dissolving into a cocky grin.

"How am I doin', Sam? Have I got the knack for playing Ellen? She's fun. Almost as much fun as it was to play Dean."

"Can't Jo hear you?"

"Not if I don't wish her to. This right here," One hand gestured between them, "is between us. She's off in the next scenario, getting ready for the big sex scene. You get to comfort her, tell her how much you understand her frustration with her mother. It's a bond between you, that frustration. Her and Ellen, you and John. Or maybe we'll save that for tomorrow night. What do you think?"

"You don't care what I think."

"You're right. I think we'll save it for tomorrow. Let her anticipation, and yours, grow."

As time marched on, Lucifer brought them to present day, dragging in Marta and Meg until they all had a dream history along with the real one.

Sam considered the two women Jo saw on a daily basis. Marta and Meg. He wondered, not for the first time, if Meg's host was still in that body or if she'd managed to escape into death before Meg's invasion. He hoped she'd escaped. It'd be far kinder if she had. He tried not to think about the host if he could help it, not ever letting himself dwell on her. She'd been pulled into this because of him. Just like Jo. The knowledge was a bitter twisting in his mind, one more thing Lucifer used to continue hurting him. What woman he'd ever met in his life was safe? Not a one. He'd been toxic to each one in some way. A poison. Eventually. And so he refused to think about Meg's host. He focused only on Jo. It was easier for him that way.

He watched Marta and thought the woman was not long for this world. When Lucifer decided he was done with Jo, he'd be done with Marta. Did she understand that? Did anyone understand that it was only a matter of time?

How was it possible to effectively fight an enemy that had eternity to wait you out?

* * *

It was easier to cave in to her dreams than to fight them. Why? Because, he was relentless, never giving her a moment to rebuild her defenses. Just when Jo thought she could gain some ground, he kicked it out from under her, leaving her sprawled once more. It was as though the start of the new year boosted his determination. Either that or she was worn down enough that it seemed that way.

As a fantasy boyfriend, Sam was great. He was thoughtful, considerate, kind, passionate, and always put the toilet seat back down -- until Lucifer changed that detail and the only way Jo could tell between dream Sam and real Lucifer was to watch his face. It was the eyes that gave it away. Sam's eyes were kind but Lucifer couldn't quite recreate that kindness. As good as he was at mimicking, she could tell her waking moments by that single detail. Jo had learned what to look for -- she thought.

By July 2012, reality and fantasy began to collide, confusing her.

Jo endured, like she had the past months, taking Meg with her on a trip to the nearest pharmacies. She'd done her homework and had something specific in mind. Sleeping pills. She hoped they'd put her out deep enough that she wouldn't register her dreams. Or maybe they could put her out period. If it didn't work one way or another, Jo wasn't sure what she'd do. Her hold on sanity was starting to slip. That was the most frightening thing lately; that she could see herself falling deeper and deeper, teetering on the edge with no lifeline to pull her back should she slip over that edge.

Meg got them inside and prowled the aisles while Jo shopped. "It won't work, you know," she called out.

"What won't?" Jo searched the shelves. There wasn't much left, but there, in the very back, she found what she was looking for.

"The drugs." She appeared at the counter. "He'll just force you out of the stupor and make you puke it all up. Or he'll purge it from your system while you sleep." Her smile was sly. "You're welcome to try though. It'll be a nice experiment for you since you haven't tried it yet. See what happens. Maybe you won't wake up at all."

That night was her first suicide attempt.

Jo prepared herself for it like she would a date. She took a bath, soaking in soothing lavender scented water that had lots of bubbles. When she got out, she rubbed Neutrogena sesame oil all over herself and dabbed on perfume. Not the perfume Lucifer wanted her to wear, but rather her favorite scent -- the one she'd caught Dean taking sniffs of one time. Jo recalled him leaning close, ostensibly to talk to her without anyone else hearing their discussion. He'd taken an awfully deep breath before saying anything. It had been clear to her he'd been sniffing her perfume, because he'd done that a few more times during their conversation. With a smile at the memory, Jo picked out her clothes. She put on a pretty blouse with a clean pair of jeans, then swallowed the pills one by one with water. One, two, three…the whole bottle of pills. Pills taken, she laid down on the bed, arranging herself with care and closing her eyes, waiting patiently for oblivion.

Jo hoped it would come quickly.

Please?

* * *

Dean still thought about Jo as, one by one over the weeks, survivors found them. It took less time than he'd thought it could to amass a good-sized group and scout out a good location. Chuck found them first, explaining that the angels had pulled camp, leaving Castiel behind. He'd stopped having visions, but theorized that when the decision had been made was when Cas lost his powers, not when the last of the angels had gone.

Why had they left Cas? Why not take him with them? The anguish on Castiel's face when Chuck told them that had been terrible, as though he'd never realized his brethren could be so cold in the end as to abandon him completely. Dean could have told him that, but he didn't. There were no hints of 'could have told you so' between them. If Castiel hadn't figured it out on his own by then, there was nothing Dean could say anyway. After Uriel's behavior and Zachariah's, he should have had a pretty good idea what the rest of his brethren were really like in Dean's opinion.

Why leave in the first place? Was Lucifer that scary to them that they'd just roll over and let him run roughshod over the earth at leisure? Couldn't they try thinking of some better plan than Michael burning through Dean's body? There had to be another way. Had to be.

The angels had given up, but Dean Winchester couldn't. He'd fight the good fight even if they were too cowardly to do it.

Rufus showed up, with Bobby, the two not staying very long. Just enough to see the camp was growing. They drove off together after two months to make their way back to Bobby's house with a plan of setting up a camp there so people wouldn't have to travel so far. One month later, a group of survivors brought a severely injured Rufus into the camp. He'd been trying to get to them, he explained. Scavengers were thick around Bobby's and Rufus could no longer get in by himself. He'd needed help to pull Bobby out to relative safety.

Dean sat with Rufus as he choked to death, his lungs filling up with blood. There'd been nothing anyone could do about it and once he was gone, Dean made sure his body was burned. A proper send off.

He took a team to get Bobby, only to discover his early prediction to Castiel was half correct. It hadn't been the infected who'd come for him. His body had been ripped apart by bullets. The scavengers had found him and trashed his house.

Too late to save Bobby.

Another burning, another send-off, another funeral.

It tore at him like talons along his flesh that gripped, dug deep, and drew blood. The man who'd been like a second father to him was gone and, in his grief, Dean screamed his acceptance of Michael to the heavens. He'd stood outside Bobby's house on the withered brown grass of the lawn with his head tipped back, eyes scanning the sky. All he'd wanted was for it all to end and be over. Please, God, let it just be over. Jimmy had said it was like being chained to a comet, so chain him already. Let his consciousness of everything that was going on be seared away so he couldn't comprehend any of it. Let him have numbness. Let him have sleep. Dean didn't want to keep feeling all the things he kept having to over and over again. A body shouldn't have to deal with the sort of levels of grief he'd had to in his life.

"No more," he'd pleaded. "Take me, do it. Isn't this what you wanted Michael, you son-of-a-bitch? I'm here! I accept! I'll do it!"

He'd screamed until his throat hurt and all he could manage was a strained whisper. Until exhaustion had sent him to his knees in the dewy grass and the truth of his choice was clear.

No one answered. No one was _going_ to answer. It was too little, too late. The angels were gone, as in really gone, not listening anymore.

His weakness in grief passed. If any of the men who'd gone with him had heard his cries to the heavens, they didn't mention it. Maybe they'd put it down to grief. Just as well. He had no intention of explaining what it had really been about.

Try as he might, Dean couldn't lie down and let the end roll over him like the angels were doing. He couldn't choose apathy, not really. It wasn't in him to truly give up.

Slowly, they began to put together a cohesive camp and for some reason, they all looked to Dean for leadership. Why him? What made him so different from the other men who'd joined the group? The last thing he wanted to do was be responsible for all those people, so he did the only thing he could -- he accepted it and kept on doing what he'd been doing: hunting and killing. If that made him a leader, then so be it.

He organized scouting parties to search for survivors and for necessities. Chuck took charge of the endless lists involved in keeping a stockpile of goods, handwritten pages he kept on a clipboard, but it was Dean who decided when and where the parties would search, figuring out how many miles they could go and get back in relative safety.

He put together hunting parties, men and women good with weapons who knew what they all had to do to survive this new world they lived in.

His nightmares were nightly and vivid, violent images of pain and horror. In them, he had to put a bullet in Jo's brain like he would a rabid dog. Sometimes it was Sam he shot. And sometimes, he dreamed he'd never left hell at all. The idea that all of this -- Castiel's pulling him from hell and the following months -- was another of Alastair's tortures terrified him. Dean would wake, sweating and shaking, tasting the salt of tears on his tongue and bile in the back of his throat as he tried to scream. Luckily, he couldn't ever seem to actually loose his screams, his throat frozen and unable to loose even a whimper.

It wouldn't be good for any of his people to see that their leader suffered from crippling nightmares.

Dean tried to behave as normally as he could, telling no one -- not even Cas -- of his dreams and the fears that remained beneath the surface of him, fears that they were fighting a losing battle. Each time they went out of the camp, they lost at least one person. Maybe they were able to bring more back, but was it worth it? A life for a life? Was any of it worth anything?

He joked and gave all the right speeches to the people in the camp, yet when he looked at himself in the mirror, he nearly couldn't recognize the man staring back. In his eyes was something different, a wild desperation taking root that could easily eclipse everything he was if he didn't hold it in check. Where was the man he'd once been? Was he still in there somewhere? Dean would spend long minutes each morning staring at his reflection, searching for some sign of his old self and failing to detect even a faint hint.

I have to keep it together, he told himself repeatedly. If not for myself, for them. For those people out there. For Jo when I find her. Keep it together.

2012. What a crap year of crap realizations.

It had become quickly apparent that Castiel was not cut out to be fully human. Dean had never seen anyone as clumsy in his life. Cas managed to break his own fingers, a couple toes, and sprain one ankle. He tripped over his feet and anything else in the way of walking and generally seemed to have lost that part of the control of Jimmy's body as time went on. His body now apparently. The only time he could move with any grace was when he was half-drunk or high. Probably not the best state for Castiel to be in as he slipped into crushing depression from being left behind by his angel brethren, but as Chuck reminded Dean, Cas was an adult male and fully grown former angel. As long as he didn't endanger anyone else, let him deal with it the way he wanted.

And so Dean lost Castiel too, only not to death. Cas went the way of debauchery -- women and drugs --, amassing a harem of young, pretty women too scared to go out and fight on the front lines. He immersed himself in that life, spending much of his time drunk or high, usually high.

So the count was now…what? Lucifer 5, Dean 0. The suckage just didn't seem to end. He refused to count Jo in that number until he actually found her dead. A few times he'd thought a hunting party had brought her back as a woman her height and build emerged from a vehicle, but no, it wasn't her.

To his extreme sorrow, it was never Jo.

* * *

Attempt number two was a bit less passive than the first one. Jo dug her dad's knife from the wall and used it, feeling some camaraderie with dead Sarah in her choice of spots to wait for her death. This time she didn't bother preparing. She chose to slit her wrists in front of the fireplace, her blood flowing onto that white carpet Marta had replaced once already. She imagined Sarah with her, imagined her looking a lot like Meg, wearing a brightly colored blouse and jeans, her long dark hair loose and a sad expression upon her pretty face. Her feet were bare, toenails painted a bright pink. When Jo laid down, imaginary Sarah did too, staying with her.

Jo slipped into death….

And woke the next morning to the morning sunlight on her face. She was in bed with not even a trace of the lines she'd cut into her arms. He'd healed her, brought her back again. Lucifer sat on the end of the bed waiting for her to wake.

"If you're this unhappy, Jo, you should have talked to me."

She started to cry, curling up on her side. When she'd woken from taking the sleeping pills, she'd thought she hadn't taken enough of them, though she'd swallowed the whole damn bottle. He wasn't going to let her die.

He joined her, chest to her back, wrapping one arm around her in a parody of comfort. It was his favorite pose when with her in the bed. "I understand how hard this is for you. Really, I do, but I can't let you go, Jo. I can't. You mean too much."

She wasn't comforted. He said she meant too much? Right. It'd been made perfectly clear she was nothing to him over and over. Still, he continued to tell her that lie. Why pretend?

Jo took to keeping her Dad's knife with her at all times, digging the point into her skin whenever she wasn't sure she dreamed. It did help to hold off the sensation of slipping into fantasy land. He let her keep the knife because, as he told her, she now knew he'd bring her back no matter what she did. The knife meant nothing. She could carve herself to pieces and he'd make sure she woke whole the next day.

The days slid into each other and without a calendar, Jo had no idea what month it was. The weather got colder, then warmer again. Another turning of seasons. All she knew was that nothing about her circumstances would change. There would never be a day when Dean would come to her rescue and carry her away from Lucifer. Jo cried at that, at the stark realization that the man she thought of as her lifeline wasn't coming for her. He wasn't going to find her after all and that knowledge broke one more piece inside her away. Her despair and depression rolled over her like waves on the shore, in and back out. One of these times, she was sure they'd drag her under completely and carry her out into their ocean depths.

It was Meg who kept her moving, not letting her curl into a ball of misery like she wanted. She made her get out of bed, physically dragging her when she refused, forcing her to get dressed. One day, she'd taken Jo to the movie theater, popped some popcorn and presented Jo's favorite Jim Carrey movies the entire day. Meg wouldn't say where she'd gotten the movies and Jo didn't press for answers. Nor did Meg say why she bothered trying to shore up Jo's moods. It made no sense, but she did it anyway.

Another day, Meg took her sailing, just the two of them. When they went past Navy Pier, Jo averted her face, looking the other way rather than think about that day months earlier.

She ate what was put in front of her, ignoring Marta. The woman had been barely civil to her since Jo had sided with Meg's description of her attempted escape. Not that it mattered. Marta did the job she'd been acquired to do: care for Jo's physical health. Occasionally, Marta expressed frustration that Jo had yet to get pregnant, though she was careful not to mention her worries where Lucifer would hear her.

"Why are you doing this," Jo asked Meg. "You could be out there," she waved a hand at the windows, "enjoying his handiwork. Why are you here with me?"

"Because out of all his handiwork, you're among the most important at present." Meg sat beside her on the couch and put an arm around her like a half-hug. It was a friendly gesture, one other humans gave to comfort. Jo couldn't fathom why Meg bothered.

"But why?" Neither Meg nor Lucifer ever told her why, dancing about the issue until her head would spin. "Just tell me. Please? It's not like I can do anything about it, right?

Gentle fingers brushed Jo's hair back from her face. "You'll see. Soon."

She started to sob, unable to hold in her tears. Meg held her in the sort of soothing embrace Jo hadn't had since Sam comforted her after those fights with Dean and her mom….

Wait a minute. That was a dream she'd had. In reality, none of that had happened and Meg was a demon. Jo pulled away, taking the knife out and pressing it to her palm. The mark stung. "Why are you being nice to me," she demanded.

Meg's eyes widened and she scooted back on the cushions. "Because we're friends, Jo. Put the knife down, okay?"

"We're not friends. You're a demon bitch he ordered to guard me."

She held up her hands in a placating gesture. "We _are_ friends. Don't you remember? Sam introduced us? Sam and I, we go way back. You know that. You and I, we're best friends. We tell each other everything. I tell you when my boyfriend's being a dick and you tell me when Sam's being a bastard, which is not nearly as often as my boyfriend is a dick."

"You're lying --"

"It hurts when you say things like that to me. I'll just come back later. Maybe you'll be feeling better then."

Jo watched Meg leave and pressed the tip of the knife into her palm over and over, wondering if she'd been dreaming of putting the knife to her skin. The blood looked real. The pain felt real. But was it?

"Oh God," she cried out. "Somebody help me!"

* * *

Jo was changing and not for the better.

Sam watched her pretending to read on the couch, a book open on her lap and eyes staring. She didn't smile as she once had and when she did, it had a bitter tinge to it. She was tired, mentally and spiritually. Jo was crumbling under the constant pressure of Lucifer's will upon her.

He counted the months that had gone by. It had been early spring of 2011 when Jo made her deal. It was now 2013. She'd survived two years of his attentions. Would Jo make it even another few months? A few weeks even?

She no longer fought the dreams and sometimes, he could see she'd checked out mentally while awake as well, like now. He wondered…if Lucifer invaded her mind right now, what would they see? Would they see the same scene that was in reality?

With a sigh, Sam slept.

* * *

The water wouldn't wash away that foolish bargain. Nothing would make it go away. Jo swayed beneath the spray, thankful that at least Lucifer liked her to be clean and thus made certain the apartment had running water.

That bargain she'd made was forever. There was no expiration. Jo had shackled herself to him willingly. Strange how one didn't understand what eternity meant until actually looking down that road. Her hope was gone.

Jo washed her body and hair, shaved her legs and underarms and stepped from the shower to dry and finish her toilette. Dropping the towel onto the floor, she padded naked into the bedroom.

A navy dress was hanging where he always put those clothes he wished her to wear. The items she'd taken out were gone. This dress was satin, body hugging to mid-thigh with ruffles on the skirt that swept back to a full train in the back. Tasteful really, with a hint of old Hollywood glamour.

She dried her hair, put on perfume and reached for the dress. It fit her perfectly, as his choices always did, proportioned for her. Make-up was minimal, jewelry simple. A necklace and bracelet, both of sapphires and white gold. She left her hair down as he preferred, then stepped into four inch heels. They closed the height difference between them just a little. With a last dab of gloss to her lips, she joined him in the living room.

Jo took the hand he proffered, the quick change of locale no longer making her stomach queasy. The were in a park, strolling along a debris strewn path.

"Smile for the camera, Jo," he told her. "Let them get a good picture of us together."

She tried to smile, to pretend that being out like this wasn't disturbing. Who did he show her off to? What camera? Jo assumed he was taunting her. There were none of his human followers left save Marta. They'd all either become infected with the virus or been killed by the infected. One by one they'd discovered the horror of him like she'd known they would.

Who was left to see her with him?

* * *

When Jo Harvelle had been brought in to the apartment, Marta Everston had liked her. She'd enjoyed coaxing the younger woman to eat proper meals and making certain she remained healthy. She'd liked her a lot more than that Sarah woman, who'd gotten blood all over the floor as she'd died, then gotten up as Meg, and walked away without even trying to clean it up.

She recalled that day. Lucifer had brought Sarah, yet by nightfall it had all fallen apart. Alicia had mortally injured the woman, Marta killed Alicia, and black smoke had dived into Sarah's body right at that last shuddering breath she'd taken. Sarah had sat up, watched the hole in her chest heal up and announced that she needed "a fucking drink already."

At least Marta hadn't had to get rid of a body besides Alicia's. She'd played the part Lucifer had given her, saying what he told her to and behaving as he wished. It had seemed like such an honor then.

Marta disliked Sarah as Meg even more. If there wouldn't be harsh consequences, Marta would have gotten rid of Meg a long time ago, but she knew the score on Meg. She wasn't allowed to harm her.

Jo and Meg had fought to begin with, yet gradually, Meg had begun to influence Jo, taking her drinking and partying to all hours of the night when Jo should be resting. She'd become the confidante Marta had hoped to be.

She watched Jo from the bedroom doorway. Her charge was on the bed, staring at the ceiling. These days she spent much of her time that way, seemingly unaware of things going on around her.

When would the blessing come? Marta had doubts that it ever would. Jo's periods were regular and she _was_ healthy, so what was the problem? Why had she not gotten pregnant yet? It wasn't as though Lucifer didn't visit her because he did. He spent many nights with Jo.

Her faith wavered.

She doubted Lucifer's supposed plan for Jo Harvelle as she watched her fellow worshippers all meet gruesome ends at the hands of the infected. Only Marta remained and she was very frightened by that turn of events. It was one thing to be on top through your own actions and another to be so by providential fate. Remaining in the apartment to care for Jo had kept her safe. Marta decided it was the only thing that had kept her safe. She was useful.

What would happen when she ceased to be useful and how soon was that day coming? She watched Jo decline and knew it couldn't be long for her either.

Her master, Lucifer, was a cruel one after all.

* * *

The iPod resting in the dock on the nightstand turned on, a song beginning to play. 'The Crystal Ship' by The Doors.

Jo squeezed her eyes shut tightly as the bed dipped behind her. Did he know that was one of the songs Meg had played in Duluth when she'd possessed Sam? She opened her eyes. Had there been a Duluth? It didn't seem like it had happened anymore.

Lucifer stretched out against her back, his body warm. The slow caress of his fingertips tracing the line of her spine tickled. Jo swallowed hard. Hand beneath the pillow, hidden from his view, she dug her nails into her palm, tiny bursts of pain that kept her focused in reality. Without them, Jo knew her mind would cease to acknowledge the difference. She'd shift back and forth with no true awareness of reality.

He'd planned this.

This was what he'd been working towards for months. Every last thing he'd subjected her to, from the isolation and Meg, to the lying in circles and changing her dreams, had been for this end. He'd maneuvered her into the slippery slide towards insanity. Even knowing it was happening couldn't stop it. She was too fragile from his constant attentions.

Jo sobbed, pressing her nails harder.

Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together, she ordered herself.

Reaching over her body, he grasped her hand, placing a gentle kiss on her temple. "Is that all keeping you anchored?" His hand withdrew, fingers wet with blood. She'd pressed so hard she'd made herself bleed.

Jo was turned onto her back, her clenched fist brought from beneath the pillow to rest beside her head. "Please," she whispered. "Don't."

Pity mingled with the cruelty in his eyes. "You ask me for mercy?" Her left hand was raised as well, his fingers threading with hers, keeping that hand flat.

"Please," she pleaded.

"Oh Jo. It's God who grants mercy. I don't. You know that." His smile was gentle and almost loving.

In one quick movement, he'd pried her fist open, stopping that press of her nails. Jo fought in a last ditch effort to hang on. She bucked and twisted, but he was too strong, straddling her body, hands gripping hers to keep her from giving herself the clarity of pain. She felt her mind whirling, losing the battle.

"No, no, no, no, no, no…."

"Sshhh." Cheek against hers, he held her down. "Let it come. This moment has such beauty in it, Jo. Feel it all."

He was milking every bit of suffering he could from her, wringing her out as he would a water-soaked cloth. Every last drop.

Jo shook her head, gaze searching for something, anything to anchor her….

And failed. There was nothing in reality that wasn't also in her dreams.

Her chin was grasped, head turned until her attention was caught by his eyes. It was Sam who looked down at her. Warm, loving, kind Sam.

"You mean so much to me, Jo."

No, oh no! She gasped for air once, twice…and let herself fall into madness. It didn't take long for the last full remnants of Jo Harvelle to break into pieces.

* * *

Sam was forced to watch Jo splinter apart, to see the clarity in her eyes fade away. He felt the struggles of her body as she tried to buck him off, watched the desperation take her when she couldn't, her eyes searching for something to focus her.

Lucifer had been careful with her, making certain that when this moment came, Jo had nowhere to go to escape him, not even in her own mind, ensuring he could topple her emotional supports. All the details of this real world he'd created for her, from furniture and knick-knacks to the people she saw, were the same both waking and dreaming. He'd made Meg her friend, a buddy to pass the time with when 'Sam' wasn't there, and Marta was a bit of help because 'Sam' loved her just that much.

It hurt to watch her fall.

He remembered that first sight of her, gun at Dean, and that punch she'd socked Dean with. She had been strong. Determined. He recalled little memories, moments he'd stored away. Jo smiling, laughing at a raunchy joke, dancing a little to music as she cleaned tables at the Roadhouse, her hips swaying. He thought about how she liked her coffee and that expression she used when she wanted to make a point. There were memories of her in Philadelphia, telling him in not so many words that the good of what they did outweighed the terror.

What good was there now out of all this terror she'd experienced?

Sam saw none. He wept for the old Jo, the woman who'd fought Lucifer to this end. She hadn't given up, not really. She'd fought his plan for her until she had no way left to fight. Sometimes, even the most determined soldier couldn't defeat the enemy. Her efforts had, ultimately, been ineffectual. He'd watched Jo move from strength to weakness, all of her anchors smashed, the tether of her cut, much like his had been.

Little remained of Jo save a ruined shell. They were the same now in that way. Broken down, tired, aching….

He let himself descend into that fantasy life they now shared, not even noticing when he slipped into sleep.

* * *

He _was_ kind to her in those last moments of her sanity. He could have let her fall alone. Instead, he held her, cradled her, experienced it with her.

Such deep shudders her mind gave before breaking!

So sweet her release into his will!

He was nearly done with her on this plane of existence. There'd be more later, as eternity stretched out before them, but for now, she'd nearly achieved her first, immediate purpose.

Lucifer raised up and sat back, crouching over her. Jo Harvelle was limp beneath him, staring off to one side. Getting up, he dragged the covers from her the rest of the way. "It's time to get dressed, Jo."

Rolling onto her side, she pushed to a sitting position. Jo climbed from the bed to stand before him. Her eyelids fluttered, tongue wetting her lips. "Are we going somewhere, Sam?"

"We are." He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs rubbing along her cheeks.

"Where?"

"To meet Dean. We're going to meet Dean." He smiled again, releasing her. "It's time."

A confused expression crossed her face, but she nodded and moved to the closet, picking her clothes with care. Jeans, shirt, jacket, boots. Soon, Jo was dressed and ready.

Dean, Dean, Dean, he thought. Meet the new Jo. I do hope you like her as well as the old one. I prepared her especially for you.


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Fields of Paper Flowers  
Chapter: 8  
Summary: Jo has become separated from Ellen in the early days of a bleak future. Believing Ellen in danger, Jo makes a desperate deal with Lucifer-possessed-Sam. Too late, she realizes what his terms really mean: she's his. Always his. His to tease, his to torment, his to break.  
Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect is intended.  
Notes: One line from 'The End' -- past Dean speaking to future Dean -- has stayed with me: "Oh man, something has been broken in you." Thank you for all of the reviews and for taking the time to read this piece.

* * *

It was time.

Lucifer had tested the tone of the world, Dean Winchester, and Jo's mental state. All was ready, as it should be. The time had come to bring the elements together and watch the result of all his hard work come to pass.

He had no further use for Marta. Jo would drift along fine without her. It wasn't necessary to have a handler for her anymore. Reaching out with one hand, he snapped her neck while Jo and Meg watched. It was a quick death, more than she deserved. He'd no patience to make it linger, not when better things awaited. He found himself excited by the coming events.

Meg accepted her assignment with pride. Such an important task she had. She was to go to Dean and tell him where Jo was. Nothing more. Who would understand just how important that one thing was? So few grasped how events all had to work together to achieve one end. He watched her wriggle in her meat suit like an overeager puppy, ready to go the second he said to.

"Your rewards will be many for this act of service," he told her, placing a hand on her head much like a faith healer to a supplicant. "I do promise. Your loyalty has been a beacon to others, an example of the greatest of my own."

She turned her face up to his hand. He allowed it this once. "The honor of this…. I'm overwhelmed."

And so she should be. To his right, Jo watched them, a vacant expression in her eyes. Right at this moment, he almost had an affection for Jo Harvelle, the final catalyst in his eventual triumph over Dean Winchester. The journey with her had been a long road, yet in the end, she'd been shaped as he'd known she would, her body, mind, and soul bending and twisting beneath her choices.

Flicking his gaze back to Meg, he nodded. "Make me proud."

"I will."

Sitting Jo down, Lucifer talked to her in a soft voice. She was going to move to another location and soon, the culmination of all of his plans for her would transpire. He could hardly wait.

He swept his fingertips along her cheek in a gentle caress.

It was going to be beautiful.

* * *

Jo drifted in and out of reality, her mind refusing to lock on to one or the other. Sometimes, she'd be talking to Sam and realize he wasn't there. Or Meg, or Marta. Awake, asleep, it no longer mattered which was which.

Her fear was finally gone.

* * *

It was not usual procedure to let herself get caught. In fact, it flew in the face of everything Meg had ever done, but she did it. She did it because Lucifer'd asked it of her. From the very first time she'd met Dean Winchester, Meg had wanted to snap him in two. Every time after that meeting she'd wanted to torture him, make him hurt emotionally and physically. She wanted to look him in the eyes, watch the hopelessness take him over, and drink in the fear inside him. The times she'd hurt him had given her such satisfaction!

These long months she'd wanted to tell Jo what was happening. How Jo had been picked because of her connection to Dean. The woman he'd been afraid to get close to. The potential of that emotional connection they'd shared. Lucifer had known everything Sam had known straight from Dean's mouth. How Dean cared for Jo and how Dean would do anything to save someone he considered one of his own. Meg had wanted to share it and had restrained herself because Lucifer didn't want Jo to know. He wanted her unaware of the depths of Dean's true feelings for her -- that piece Jo had been missing as she'd tried to understand Lucifer's motivations. Jo Harvelle had never known just how much Dean Winchester cared for her. She'd believed the lie Meg had told her in Duluth: he thinks of you like a little sister.

A sister? Please. Men don't look at their sister the way Dean had looked at Jo over and over. The lusting heart. Jo's mother had been the only real obstacle between them. Dean and Sam had both understood that Ellen wanted more for Jo than a hunter, which by definition excluded both of them. He'd respected Ellen's feelings at the expense of potential happiness for himself and Jo. Stupid, Meg thought.

Jo hadn't known much in the end really. He'd kept her isolated. She didn't know how Lucifer kept a close watch on Dean, directing here and there to take away his friends. Like Meg had told Jo, it was beautiful how it all worked together. Things had to happen at the right time or nothing fit into place.

She twisted her wrists in her bonds. All she had to do was resist Dean's questioning and make him decide the only way to get information was to torture her. Then, in order to be convincing, she had to withstand the torture before telling that information Lucifer wanted Dean to know.

Meg hated that part. She wasn't a fan of torture on herself, yet she'd do anything Lucifer asked of her. His plans meant more than anything and if all went well, Dean Winchester would break as well.

Glorious.

* * *

Castiel was in a rare fully sober moment when the demon calling herself Meg was brought in. He didn't pay much attention to it until the first rounds of questioning had produced nothing and Dean decided to give torture a try. He watched, horrified, as Dean gave orders for a table of tools to be assembled. Holy water, salt, knives, hypodermic needles, and more, all laid out in neat lines on the table Castiel could see through the open door.

"Dean," he said, gesturing at the table. "You --"

"You got a problem with this, Cas?"

"Yes, I do." He remembered very clearly what Dean's last experience torturing had done to him.

"You, who once ordered me to do this _same_ thing, have a problem with it now?"

The bitter tinge to his words made Castiel flinch. "You don't want to go down this path. It won't end well. It never does. We both know that."

Dean avoided Castiel's eyes. "She knows something and I aim to get what she knows. If you can't take it, get the hell out."

He didn't leave. Like last time, Castiel stayed and listened to the screams that weren't long in coming. With each scream that echoed, he forced himself to stand still while the others waiting with him fled from the sounds until only he remained to hear Dean's step into darkness. Like before, he wondered…does the end justify the means and does any of that matter in war?

* * *

Stepping into the room, Dean watched the demon a moment. Meg was wearing a familiar face, though it had been a very long time since he'd seen Sarah Blake. He wondered if Sarah was trapped like the real Meg had been. Had she seen everything Meg had been doing? How many months had Meg been wearing her? He gritted his teeth, trying to separate Meg from Sarah in order to begin.

She grinned, attention shifting to the table of tools for a few seconds. "Hey, Dean baby. Are we going to get physical now?"

"Oh yeah, Meg. We're going to get physical."

"Bring it on. I'm so hot for you."

Turning, he closed the door, shutting out those people who wanted to help him and shutting out Cas, who gave him such an expression of sorrow that he nearly changed his mind about doing this. How else were they going to get information from her? It's not wrong, he told himself. It has to be done.

Meg was all his and he planned to do whatever it took to get information from her. It wasn't wrong.

"So…_baby_," he went to the table, looking over the tools there. He hadn't done this in a long time, but knew it'd all come back to him quickly enough. It had the last time.

In another time, another place, Dean would be horrified with himself for even considering doing this again. Right now though? He blocked out that horror over it. This was necessary, he told himself. He had to. There was no other way.

"Is Sarah in there with you?"

"So nice you remember her name. No, she's long gone. I slipped in as she slipped out. She had a nice violent death a couple years ago. You could say she was a trial run of sorts."

"So it's all you in there?"

"Why don't you have a go if you're that interested?"

"Well, as long as Sarah's not in residence….." He punched her, the force of it snapping her head back. He heard something crack. It pleased him to have Meg strung up and helpless. "Why don't you tell me where the Colt's at?"

She spat blood and giggled. "Silly boy, that's not what you really want to know." She arched her back as though stretching. "Mmmm. Can you imagine all the things Lucifer's been doing to Jo for months now? No, not months. Years."

His attention fell on the holy water. "Jo," he asked in a nonchalant tone.

"Don't be coy. Jo Harvelle. The bitch you let get away. Dean, she loves it. I don't think you'd believe me if I told you just how fast she spread her legs for him. Ellen's body wasn't even cold yet."

He gripped the bottle, opening the cap.

"Just another slut." The last word was drawn out in a playful lilt.

The holy water sizzled her flesh and satisfaction at hurting her surged through him. He ran his tongue along his lower lip and doused her again.

When she was done screaming, Meg gasped in a breath and looked up at him. "You like that, don't you, Dean? It gets you hard watching me squirm."

"You're going to die, but first, I'm going to hurt you so badly you'll plead for death." He wanted to. He wanted to hurt her like he had Alastair as his ire rolled over him.

"I love foreplay!"

He splashed more on her. There'd be plenty of time for creativity later he suspected. "What do you know about Jo?"

"I know Sammy's a naughty boy. The things he's directed Lucifer to do to her…." One brow raised. "He's far more imaginative than you've ever thought of being. Ruby helped to lower those inhibitions and let the freak run free. You think Sam's dead? He's not. You think he's trapped? He's not. He wants to be there, Dean. He's enjoying every minute." She ran her gaze down him and back up. "You poor, poor baby. You can't save anyone these days, can you?"

"Where does any of that tell me about Jo?"

"She screams his name, over and over, like she never screamed yours --"

The anger he couldn't reign in propelled him, one hand reaching for the knife on the table. Minutes later, when blood dripped from her flesh, he stepped back. "Where's Jo?"

"Can you hear her? Can you hear her gasping his name?" She demonstrated, sounding eerily like Jo. "Sam! Sam! Yes, oh yes, don't stop! Harder!"

Dean clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Keep it together, he told himself.

"And that, dear Dean, is how she sounds. I didn't have to take much artistic license you understand. She's a freaky girl, fucking Lucifer himself and calling him Sam."

"You're a lying bitch."

"Am I?" Meg tilted her head to one side. " Do you really think she was that picky as to which one of you she got? _You_ certainly weren't willing to man up and give her what she wanted and he was."

"You mean Lucifer." Bending, he drew the knife along her arm just to hear her scream again.

"Lucifer and Sam," she gasped, body twisting. "Both of them. They both wanted to give her forever and she accepted it, spreading her legs wide like any good _whore_ --"

He worked her over, ignoring the aches in his body as time marched on from minutes into hours, feeling as though he'd reached a precipice where his only choice was to jump fully into the situation. Dean took that leap and gradually, her smart mouth gave way to pleas to stop. She'd talk, tell him anything he wanted to know.

"Where's Jo?"

"He had her in Chicago," she screamed, twisting against her bonds. "You don't know how close you've come to finding her so many times."

"Chicago then?"

"No," she shook her head. "He's moved her."

She spilled everything she knew and when she was done, Dean finished the job he'd started, telling himself all the while that it was necessary. Meg had been telling the truth about Sarah, at least. When Meg was gone, there was no one remaining in the body. He didn't have to hear Sarah tell him every thing Meg had made her see and do.

He'd done exactly what had needed doing.

So why did he now feel like he had another yawning, empty spot inside him?

* * *

Castiel listened to Dean's solo mission plans and waited until they were alone before voicing his objections. "You're really going after her," he asked, stretching his legs out and crossing his ankles. "Really?"

"You don't think I should."

"Is my disapproval that obvious? I think it's a trap for you and so do those people out there. They won't say it, of course. No guts to disagree with our leader."

"But you will. I'll be careful. Besides, he doesn't have her in a hot zone. He's got her in a relatively clear area in our regular patrol zone. He's got her right at my backdoor, Cas. Shit, we could run across her on a supply raid. No way I'm not snatching her up."

"Just because it's relatively clear doesn't mean there won't be trouble." He watched Dean pack his weapons, carefully choosing each one. "What if Meg was telling the truth, Dean? They don't always lie. She didn't lie to you about the woman Sarah. What if Jo Harvelle _has_ gone to his side? Do you really want to have that memory of her spoiling all the others you have of her? We've heard of a woman in his entourage now and then with her description, seen those grainy photos. It could be her."

The woman in the pictures they had was blond and petite, well-dressed. Occasionally, they were able to locate him for brief enough periods to see him out with her on his arm. Castiel had been wondering about that. If it was Jo Harvelle, was she possessed? Was some demon riding around in her? Or had she chosen Lucifer's side in the end?

"Jo wouldn't go to his side unless she had no other choice. Come on, Cas. She was so dedicated to hunting that she ran off at one point rather than continue fighting Ellen over it. She chose the hunting life."

"Sure." He nodded in agreement of that fact. "But hunters go bad. You know that. You've seen it happen. Hunters, angels, friends…brothers. It happens."

"_Not_ Jo." Dean jabbed a finger at him.

Seeing the slow simmering anger in Dean's eyes, Castiel shrugged. Dean wasn't exactly in a rational frame of mind right now and when he got in that state it was best not to argue. If Cas tried, they'd spend the next several hours screaming at each other about Jo Harvelle. "Okay. You have a plan to bring her out, then?"

"Kill any demon guards, grab her, and run."

"Simple. To the point. Nice to know you've thought this through."

"Don't even go there," Dean warned with a scowl.

"What?" He returned Dean's stare with one of his own. "Don't what, Dean? Don't try to stop you from going on a potentially suicidal mission to save a woman you don't even know wants saving?" He shook his head. "Will you think about this for more than a few seconds? Think. By her own admission, Meg's been one of Jo's companions for months now, but she just happens to get caught by us to conveniently tell you where Jo is -- also conveniently close. Lucifer wants you to find her. It's too neat for that not to be the case. Can't you see that? Can't you just let her go already? Let her go. The reason he wants you to find her can't be a good one."

Dean's expression shifted, the emotion rippling across his features so raw that it almost hurt to see it. "I have to believe I can save her, Cas, because I can't seem to save anyone else!"

Now that Castiel could understand. Dean had a burning need to save those closest to him and there weren't many left now. The need had gotten him into trouble before and Cas was afraid it would again, but there in Dean's anguished expression was the realization it was probably a trap. Dean wasn't ignoring it. He _had_ noticed it. He'd weighed it all and decided he still had to try to save Jo. Cas sighed. "Okay. Say the word and I'll go with you."

"What, like old times?" Dean shook his head. "You stay here. I'll do this alone. I'll either find her or I won't, succeed or no. No sense in losing more than me if it's the latter."

Castiel watched Dean leave and wondered if it'd be the same man who return. For months, Dean had been walking an emotional tightrope. Cas hoped that whatever Lucifer wanted Dean to find wouldn't send him crashing to the ground. He didn't think any of them would recover if that was the case.

* * *

Jo wasn't difficult to find. He watched her walk the small downtown area, going into the stores and looking at what remained of the merchandise as though she had no fears in the world. He followed her. Once, he almost called out a warning to her as two infected came her way, but they passed her by like she wasn't even there.

What the hell?

He killed them, clean shots she didn't react to as she walked. Dean kept following her right to a small house. After an hour of observation, he decided she was alone and entered the house, carefully checking the rooms until he was sure there was no one but them there before he confronted her. He found her in one bedroom, back to the door.

"Jo."

She turned from the picture window, surprise flickering across her features. "Dean? Is that really you?"

"Yeah, Jo. It's me." He put his gun away.

Her smile was radiant, the pleasure in it blinding. She raised her left hand, tucked her hair behind her ear, her shirt sleeve riding up, revealing her wrist.

He didn't think he would have even noticed the mark right then if he hadn't been seeing similar ones for weeks now on others. In three strides he was to her, the relief he'd felt on finding her sliding away into cold horror as he took her arm and turned it to see the mark.

"What's this," he asked her, even though he was fully aware what the mark meant. Lucifer had taken to marking those who'd made deals with him, though Jo's had to be the clearest one he'd seen, like a tattoo on her skin. He smoothed his thumb across it. It was an unbreakable seal, Lucifer's mark of ownership. Those with it would be his for all eternity.

Her smile faded, replaced with regret and a sheen of tears in her eyes. "It's how he marked me when we'd finished sealing our deal."

"Jo no." He couldn't breathe, staring at her as though the sheer force of his will could wipe it away. "What did you do?"

She tugged her arm free. "Why are you here?"

"We caught Meg. She told me where to find you."

"Meg's gone?" Jo frowned, looking around the room. "She's not here." The words were said in a curious tone. "When did she leave? I was just talking to her…."

"What, so you _have_ been keeping company with her?"

She crossed her arms. "She's kept me safe from hunters. His mark kept me safe from the disease and the infected. It's like they don't see me. I can't get it. I can watch it take everyone else in the world, but he's made me immune." Jo licked her lips. "He said I'm the only one it could have been. He gives me anything I want, Dean. Clothes, cars, food. Anything…"

"That's something to be really proud of, Jo, having Lucifer as your sugar daddy. Are you hearing yourself?"

"He even gave me Sam."

"What?" Her voice took on a dreamy quality, eyes un-focusing just a fraction and Dean watched her a bit closer. Something wasn't right with her. Something major. What the hell?

"He gave me Sam. Sam's always there. He listens to me and we talk and it's not so bad when he's there."

"Sam? Sam's gone, Jo. It's more like Lucifer prince of hell listening, playing games with your head."

"He loves me, Dean."

"Jo --"

"Sam…. He must love me very much because he keeps bringing me back." Her gaze cleared, became anguished. "Do you have any idea how many times I tried to get away? No matter what I did, I would wake up whole every morning. I overdosed on sleeping pills and he told me it was okay. I slit my wrists and he told me he understood. I jumped off the rooftop, drowned myself. He's always so understanding of my human deficiency."

"Why did you do it?" He reached out to touch her, but she stepped back. "They lie. You know they do. Especially _him_."

"I did it because he promised that if I did, you and my mother would be safe from the infected. You'd both live if I gave myself to him. So I did." She laughed. "I damned myself for you."

"Jo, your mom's dead. Ellen's gone. I heard him kill her two years ago in a high school in Illinois. I burned her body myself."

"But he said…." She made a low moan, then gasped as though unable to catch her breath, shaking her head. "I can't…." Jo stumbled to him, hand touching his face. "You're real. Tell me you're real. Please. Take me away." She cupped his face with her hands.

"I'm real." He touched her sides, slid his hands to her waist. "But I can't take you away. I wish I could."

There was no way he could take her back to the camp, not with that mark. Lucifer would come for them all were he to bring Jo back. From what Dean understood, that mark made people easy for Lucifer to find when he wanted them for something.

Her gaze darted from him to the rest of the room, Jo shaking her head once more, a hand raising to wipe at her eyes. "You're not real. You can't be. I prayed you'd come and you never did, so you're not real. You never came. You're just another figment of my imagination. One of his constructs trying to trick me. I'm dreaming. That's all this is. Dean Winchester is safe somewhere else. This is a dream."

Sudden tears clouded his vision. He couldn't save her from her deal any more than Sam had been able to save him from being dragged to hell. Something wrenched hard in his chest. Jo was damned and there was not a single thing he could do about it. He couldn't break the seal upon her, for it was burned right through her body and soul both. No man could take that away. He swallowed hard. There was never going to be any of those things he'd hoped for with her. No bright spot in the middle of this war. He'd found her, but he had to leave her. Jo was lost to him forever. "I'm sorry Jo. I tried to find you. I did everything I could --"

She ceased to talk to him, obviously deciding he didn't exist, her attention moving from him to the rest of the room. She started to hum as she pulled free, went to a door, and opened it, pulling out a long white dress and holding it up. "What do you think, Meg? The white one or the blue? He likes me in the blue, but the white is new."

No matter what he said, Jo ignored him. She'd drawn inside herself, into a place he couldn't reach. Drawing his gun, he went to her, raising it. Which would be best? Head or heart? Or both? It had to be this way. He started to shoot, finger beginning to squeeze the barest of fractions…then remembered her words.

_He keeps bringing me back._

Would it be any different this time? Would pulling the trigger end up causing her more pain than good?

He put it away, then grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face him. "I'm sorry, Jo." She wasn't home mentally, he could see that. Dean ran a hand through her hair. It was as silky as he'd imagined it would be.

Like the prince in Sleeping Beauty, he embraced her and kissed her, a soft brush of his lips to hers, a final goodbye, but unlike that princess, she didn't wake from her state, remaining fixed somewhere in her own mind. It was the only kiss he'd ever have from her, bittersweet in it's tragedy. It was too late for her.

Every step of the way since 2009 he'd been too late.

Too late to save Sam.

Too late to save Ellen, Bobby, Rufus.

Too late to save Jo.

Too late to save anyone at all.

A part of him broke apart right then, shattering into millions of tiny shards too smashed to ever be put back together and Dean stole away, leaving the shell of Jo Harvelle behind. Some demon somewhere would know where the Colt was. They had to. He'd search even harder, find it, and use it. Nothing else mattered. The desire to kill Lucifer burned deep inside him, eclipsing rational thought.

Dean would kill Lucifer.

_Whatever_ the cost.

What did he really have left to lose, anyway?

The End


End file.
